


The Difference Between Medicine and Poison is in the Dose

by Ritual_Union



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror, Auror Fic, Bottom Draco, Drama, Drarry, Heartbreak, Love/Hate, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 82,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritual_Union/pseuds/Ritual_Union
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the fall of the Dark Lord, Draco Malfoy thinks his life is finally turning around. What with being accepted into the Auror program, he feels as though this just might be his chance to atone for his sins. Little does he realize it will be much harder to let go of a past that's so adamantly threatening to throw his life off balance once again. H/D pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Passive Aggressive

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress; I do expect this story to be a long one and I hope you can all join me until the end. xxx
> 
> Update (February 2018): My dear readers it has been so long without an update! Life has been happening, you know how these things go. I am working on the new chapter, but it's slow in coming. Thank you for being faithful and hope to update soon xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mild violence, language, M/M content, and slightly non-con towards the end of this chapter.  
> \---  
> 

Draco Malfoy stood at the top floor of his apartment building, overlooking the street below. A lit cigarette was held loosely between his lips. There was a heavy mist hanging low over the garden that invaded the rooftop. It hung over the tulips, the calla lilies; the camellias were nearly invisible in the light fog. He inhaled, the nervousness he'd been feeling all morning slowly ebbing away.

But not quite.

There was an unpleasant knot forming in his stomach as he thought of the job interview he would be attending later that day. He supposed he shouldn't be that nervous. After all, the Malfoy's are notorious in their self-assurance. But lately Draco had come to think that his family name wouldn't get him the respect that it once would. And it was hard. This was the first time since the end of the war that he was actually seeking out employment. He knew how the magical community was going to react to him, seeing as his father was conveniently imprisoned in Azkaban for his previous ties to the Dark Lord. The community had and would naturally assume that Draco had been in league with Him. And Draco couldn't blame them. Their assumptions weren't that far off from the truth…

The attention that the Malfoy family had received had been hostile enough during the first few months after the war; the only reason Draco and his mother had gotten away with no arrest was because the Wizarding World's own Golden Boy had stepped in to deny all accusations made towards them.

The reasoning behind his defense?

Simply put, "They saved my life."

How Draco could possibly fit into that statement when all he ever did was try to make the man's life difficult, he could only guess. He hadn't caught sight of the Savior since that fateful day in the courtroom and probably never would. But he figured it had been a good thing in the end, or he wouldn't be standing here to appreciate all that had been lost. And all that remains that way…

Draco frowned, tucking away a strand of his light hair that had fallen out of place. He took a long drag, exhaling the smoke slowly from his lips. Given that it's been a two years since that time, Draco was allowing himself the hope that he was no longer in the public's radar. That they'd forgotten who his parents were and who they'd been involved with. A feeling that was not quite excitement formed in his chest, for there was something to be said when his life could be forever changed by the end of the day. Maybe he could start over again. Maybe this was his chance to change his fate, and that of his family.

Qualifying for the Auror interview hadn't been easy. The past year had been dedicated to completing the N.E.W.T.'s, which he'd neglected during his last year at Hogwarts. Just a few weeks prior he'd been proud to find out that he'd receive top marks, Outstanding. His mother would've like that. He felt a miniscule smile spreading across his face.

The crisp morning air chilled his arms, his long-sleeve shirt not being enough to keep him warm. Habitually, he glanced down at his forearm, traced a finger over the permanent mark that he knew lay just underneath the cotton material, bold against his light skin. The mark that would never fade.

"You spend way too much time up here, Drake."

Draco glanced over his shoulder. Blaise Zabini walked over, shirtless, coming to a stop close behind him. The other man took the cigarette from between Draco's lips and transferred it over to his own.

"What are you doing?" Blaise asked him, blowing a cloud of smoke directly into Draco's face.

"Just trying to get away for a bit. Leave me alone for a second will you?" Draco asked, turning his gaze back to the street below. The mist was starting to clear up. He could just make out the tops of people's heads as they strolled down the London sidewalk. Funnily enough, none of the muggles seemed to take notice of Draco's building, as if it wasn't there.

"What if I don't want to?" Blaise slid an arm around Draco's waist and pulled him closer, chest to back. "You're never in my bed in the morning, Drake. I'm always wondering where the fuck you've run off to. Gets a bit tiring, don't you think?"

Draco didn't answer. Instead, he tried to move away from the breathing on his neck but Blaise wouldn't budge. Draco closed his eyes to keep his annoyance at bay; he'd grown tired of living with the other man. Two and a half years with Blaise Zabini could do that to some people, drive them mad. But Draco hadn't any other choice. He'd moved in just after the death of his mother, an event he tried hard not to dwell for the aching that filled him whenever he did. She'd been unable to face the magical community after the incarceration of his father. The Ministry had broken his family, taken their home, their possessions, everything except for the Malfoy vault which Draco would gladly give up in exchange for his mother to come back to him. Needless to say, Draco had been going through a very difficult time until Blaise had found him wandering aimlessly through muggle London, nursing him slowly back to health.

He opened his eyes and tried to pull away again. The cigarette dangled precariously close to the side of his face. Blaise didn't loosen his grip. Instead, he pressed himself against Draco, the bulge in Blaise's pants becoming apparent.

"Not right now," Draco said. He heard Blaise huff in irritation before he pushed off of him. Taking one last drag of the cigarette, Blaise twisted it into the soil of one of the potted plants that stood next to the railing. One of the leaves started to smolder.

"Fuck you, then," Blaise said, exhaling smoothly. He stepped closer, kissed Draco roughly on the lips before departing through the door at the other end of the roof deck.

Draco let out a deep breath and turned to the little ghost flower next to him. He took the crushed cigarette butt, brushing away the ashes from the flower's leaves.

oOo

There were a few hours to spare before he needed to appear at the Ministry, so Draco allowed himself a walk down the muggle streets. He breathed easy; there was no one around to recognize his face or his name, a welcome relief. This also provided him with some much needed time away from the flat, and from Blaise, who'd become insufferable to him recently.

He reached a busy shopping district that he'd never been to, and was just about to turn back and head in a different direction when he spotted someone sitting outside a coffee shop at the other side of the street. He paused. A small jolt of surprise went through him as he recognized the man's features. A thick, unruly head of dark hair. A pair of emerald eyes that were staring down at the table.

Merlin, he looks exactly the same.

His eyes narrowed to better take in the sight of Harry Potter sitting there reading what looked to be like the Daily Prophet. His mind was surprisingly blank. The days in the courtroom seemed far away, surreal, now that he was staring at the Savior once again.

Draco heard sounds of impatience from the people around him—he was blocking the sidewalk. He pushed past them and leaned against the wall of a building, out of the way, and positioned himself to better look at the man who saved him from a life of imprisonment. He found himself with a cigarette between his lips.

Draco recalled with a sense of nostalgia, how so many years ago he had met Harry Potter at the robe shop in Diagon Alley. At the time, Potter had been the most offensive looking boy Draco had ever encountered. A boy who had been too short for his age, with hair as black as a raven, sitting on the top of his head like a haphazard halo so unlike Draco's hair, which his mother would slick back without a single misplace strand. Potter had been wearing glasses which were broken and taped together, but the frames couldn't hide the vibrant emerald eyes that lay behind. Curious eyes. So curious about everything. Potter's collarbones had been prominent, sticking out of his worn shirt which hung unattractively around his small body. He'd been everything that Draco was not, but he'd attracted the blond boy's attention all the same.

Studying the young man now, Draco could see how much Potter had changed since their school years. Sure he still looked the same, but he was leaner, which was saying something since he'd always been a rather small kid. But the muscles were still apparent through the folds of his clothes, toned from all his years playing Quidditch. His hair was a bit longer, side-parted and covering the tops of his ears. Draco would be lying if he said the look didn't suit him. Potter reached a hand up to adjust his glasses, frowning possibly at one of the articles he'd been reading.

Draco waited for it. Waited for the familiar feeling of anger that would surge through him at the sight of Harry Potter. He'd wanted so badly to destroy him…or embrace him. Ever since the trials, those lines seemed to blur in that respect. He'd wanted to make everyone see that Potter wasn't as special as they thought he was. Just a weak half-blood with undeserved fame. Draco scowled and turned back towards his flat. What did he care anyway? That part in his life was over and there was no reason for them to cross paths again. No need to relive those memories.

________________________________________

At the other side of the street, Harry Potter frowned deeper. He tore his eyes away from the Daily Prophet in front of him. The hair at the back of his neck was prickling as though he was being watched. Never one to disregard instinct, Harry scanned the lines of people on the street, on the sidewalk. He saw no one familiar however. Only muggles walking from shop to shop, occasionally grazing his table since the sidewalk was so narrow.

Normally, he would hate the thought of being somewhere so crowded, but no one knew him here. And that was extremely refreshing. He took a sip of his coffee and turned his attention back to the paper in his hands. Harry had thought that he'd been free of all the publicity following the events at Hogwarts two years ago. It had eventually died down, but today it seemed to have resurfaced much to his dismay. The headline read, clear and bold:

**Golden Boy's Guaranteed Position at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement ******

Harry folded the paper neatly, hiding the sickening picture of him only hours after the Battle at Hogwarts, and set it aside. He supposed he would have to cut his readings of the Daily Prophet short every morning. Headlines would suffice until they forgot about him again. He stood, newspaper tucked safely under his arm, and walked a few blocks down the street before turning into an empty alley. He double checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, and disapparated.

Once reaching his sitting room, he flung the paper down on the coffee table, annoyed and more nervous than ever about his interview at the Ministry. He clenched his slightly buzzing hands. If he'd known for sure that his position was guaranteed, then he wouldn't have been practicing his magic so vigorously the past few months. Of course, the article was nothing new, a way to build-up the fact that he was still the Golden Boy, able to garner anything he wanted if only because of his fame. He raised a hand to rub at his temples.

"Always. Always the same damn thing," he muttered as he walked over to the mirror hanging in the sitting room. He unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off and laying on the arm of the couch.

These were the moments he despised the most. Coming home to a house that was empty and silent. Harry wondered, always wondered whether he had made the right decision in leaving the Weasley household behind. In leaving Ginny. It'd been comforting at the beginning. The Burrow was always full of the people he cared for and loved. And for a time, Harry finally felt as though he belonged. That he found what he'd always been looking for.

It was a while later after living at the Burrow that the past had begun to catch up to him. Night sweats, uncontrollable bursts of anger, cold and dark dreams that reminded him of the people that had been lost to the war. People that were never meant to die if only Harry had defeated Voldemort sooner. They'd come back to haunt him, possibly noticing that Harry had become too comfortable with his life, and filling his chest with the guilt and grief that had never truly, and would probably never leave his heart.

Harry had refused to socialize with anyone during those moments, since his magic had begun to be too much for even him to handle. He had to look for outlets, exercising his magic until he was exhausted and satisfied in believing he wouldn't lose control. But the constant disconnect from his family had started to fester, infecting not only him, but the rest of the family as well. For that reason, Harry had decided to move back into Sirius' place, back to Grimmauld Place on his own, to figure out what the hell was going on with him. He'd assured the family that he would be alright. But sometimes he wasn't quite sure of that himself.

He was just about to make his way to the bedroom when he was startled to see a head floating in the flames of the fireplace. "Fuck, Hermione, give a bloke a warning before you just pop up in my sitting room, will you?" Harry snapped, though he was very much please to see her. She beamed at him in response.

"Good luck today, Harry!"

"You saw the Prophet?"

"Yes. But I've known about that for quite some time, actually, you being my best friend and all."

Harry smiled apologetically. "Sorry. It's just that I'd finally gotten use to not being front page news for once."

"I know, Harry. It's unfortunate, but it'll—"

"Blow over. I know." Harry leaned against the side of his armchair. "You wanna come in?"

"Sure." Hermione climbed out of the fireplace, dusted herself off, and sat on the couch. Harry prepared some tea and handed her a cup. "Ron says it was only a matter of time before the Prophet caught wind. Don't worry yourself too much over it."

"How is he, by the way?" Harry asked.

"Good. Grumbling on about how Mrs. Weasley isn't letting him have dessert anymore. She says he needs to be strong and healthy if he's going to be an Auror," Hermione told him, a look of fondness coming over her face.

Harry let out a breath of laughter. That definitely seemed like something Ron would do. There was a small comfortable silence between them, both lost in thought.

"She misses you, you know," Hermione continued.

"What?"

"Ginny. She misses you. We all do," Hermione said, her brown eyes softening.

Harry swallowed and turned away. The guilt that he'd been feeling towards his relationship with Ginny, and the consequent break-up, came back in a rush. In all honesty, he missed her too. Her holds, her hair, her lips. If only for their familiarity. But he couldn't do it anymore. It was lie. He'd been lying to himself and to Ginny. The fact that he also fancied men hadn't been mentioned, although Harry wanted nothing more than to come out to his friends and family. But he'd bit his tongue at the last second and said nothing of his…condition. The result had been a very devastated Ginny Weasley, who more or less still thought there was a chance that they would be together again. He braced himself for the coming question.

"Won't you come back, Harry?"

"Hermione, you know full well that I can't. I need to be on my own for a while. To figure things out. I've never wanted to depend on anyone; I can't continue to do that." He bit his lip when Hermione looked down to hide her hurt. "I'm sorry, Herms. I didn't mean it in a bad way."

She shook her head. "No. I know. I understand." She placed her empty cup on the coffee table and stood up. Harry walked her to the fireplace, a few steps away.

"Besides," Harry said in an effort to cheer her up. "If Ron and I are going to be partners at the Ministry then you'll see me so often again you'll get sick of me."  
Hermione laughed and Harry gave her a small smile. "You're probably right. Although," she said, eyeing his shirtless body admiringly, "if you keep looking like that, Harry, then I might very well enjoy your company again."

Harry reddened and he grabbed his shirt, throwing it at her face. It missed completely and fell into the fire where it began to smolder and burn. He put it out with a wave of his wand.

"Anyway, I just came to send a little luck to you from all of us. Ron is excited to see you again, even though he doesn't say it aloud. Floo us whenever you'd like okay, Harry?"

"Sure thing. And thanks," Harry said. He brought her close for an embrace and with a final wave, Hermione vanished from the fireplace, leaving Harry leaning against the side of the couch.

oOo

Harry took a deep breath and stepped out onto the Ministry of Magic arrival area. He straightened his cloak more securely over his shoulders. Nervousness was building up inside of him. He had no clue what to expect from this interview. He supposed he should've thought to ask someone for advice, but after a gut-wrenching moment he realized he hadn't anyone to ask. The Aurors that he'd known, Mad-Eye, Tonks…

He made his was over to the lifts, relieved as he looked over to the main plaza, that the statue of tortured Muggles from years ago was no longer its centerpiece. A grand fountain now took its place; a few witches and wizards sat at its edge.

"Coming in?" asked a voice from the elevator.

Harry turned and his hand instinctively twitched towards his wand. He stopped himself before he made a scene and looked into the cool grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. Someone he hadn't seen in years, and someone he hoped never to deal with again.

Malfoy noticed his hand movement and the corner of his mouth turned up in his trademark smirk. "Don't worry, Potter. I wouldn't dream of doing anything to the Savior of the Wizarding World."

Harry fought back a retort and stepped inside, positioning himself at the corner of the lift behind Draco. The gates closed and the lift jerked upwards at once. Silence filled the small space as they were jostled to and fro. Harry's mind raced with memories of their past and he fought to be rid of them. They hadn't necessarily parted on bad terms, or on any terms for that matter; his family just sort of disappeared after the war. That was, of course, before the Ministry had caught the family and locked Lucius up in Azkaban for his ties to Voldemort. As for Narcissa and the youngest Malfoy, Harry had stepped in, needing to repay the life debt that he owed to them. Thankfully, the Ministry had released them on account of Malfoy being too young to know what he'd been doing at the time. His mother, Harry had heard, had died a few months later, her death ruled a suicide in the Daily Prophet front page. Harry felt a small pang of sympathy, for he clearly remembered how the woman had saved his life on the forest floor the night he defeated Voldemort. How was Harry supposed to react towards the other man?

He decided to remain silent and to wait until Malfoy stepped off towards his destination. Hopefully this wouldn't be a common occurrence in the future.

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said a disembodied voice in the elevator. The gates opened and Harry made to step around Malfoy. Malfoy, bless the bloody man, went first, his charcoal black cloak billowing behind him. Harry scowled and followed a few steps behind. Why in the world did he get off on this floor?

They walked, their steps echoing lightly in the long hallway.

"Should I be worried that you're following me, Potter?" Malfoy asked, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm not following you."

"I think you might've got off on the wrong floor," Malfoy continued.

"I was just about to tell you the same thing."

They came upon a set of oak double doors and Draco opened them, revealing a large open hall, a few doors scattered across the wall, presumably leading to the other offices in the Department.

Harry recognized with a small jolt of alarm, Pius Thicknesse at the other end, speaking with another wizard. He had to remind himself that Thicknesse had been under the Imperius curse when he last fought alongside the Death Eaters. Thicknesse turned to them and walked over.

"Good to see you could make it. Pius Thicknesse, Head of Magical Law Enforcement," he said in a deep voice. He shook Harry's hand. He would've been in deeper shock that Malfoy was also going for an Auror position if he hadn't caught the menacing shake of hands that the two men shared next. Harry furrowed his brows wondering if they were trying to break each other's hands. Before he could open his mouth to comment, Malfoy caught his eye and the hands were released. Malfoy looked away from him.

"Mr. Ronald Weasley and Mr. Dean Thomas should be joining us in two minutes or they will no longer be able to walk through those double doors," Thicknesse continued as if nothing of consequence had just happened, and reached a hand up to motion for the wizard at the other end of the hall.

At that moment the double doors opened again, and Ron and Dean hurried over. Harry grinned at them. Ron shot him a questioning look, no doubt wondering what Malfoy was doing there, before accepting a friendly hand from the Head of the department.

"Good, now everyone's here. I will leave you all with Gawain Robards, currently in charge of all the Aurors here in the department. Robards, be sure to welcome them properly once you've all been acquainted. I will be having a word with Minister Shacklebolt and won't be back for a while. Until that time, please thoroughly examine each and every one of them, after which I will expect you to have made a decision concerning who will be moving on to the trial period."  
Harry heard Ron swallow.

"Mr. Thomas, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy," Thicknesse nodded to each of them in turn. "Good luck." With that, Pius Thicknesse disappeared through the double doors.

Robards turned to them. A long scar maimed the otherwise strong features on the man's face. He began circling them, studying, towering over all of them. He opened his mouth, "I want you all to listen very carefully to what I say. There will be a few tests. Pay close attention and you'll have nothing to worry about.

"The first thing that you should know about being an Auror is that you can never trust a soul. Not one. You can't. You never know if the person you've grown up with your whole life, the person you've gone to school with for years, will turn their back on you the very next morning." He smirked at Ron's glance in Harry's direction. "Which is why we're always aware of who we're speaking to and who's around us while doing it."

He stopped in front of Harry and peered down at him. He took the liberty of parting Harry's hair from his forehead, exposing his old scar. Harry held back the urge to slap the hand away, affronted at Robards lack of respect. The back of his neck prickled, and he narrowed his eyes. Robards moved onwards, stopping now in front of Malfoy, close enough that their noses were nearly touching. Malfoy, to his credit, didn't move a muscle. Robards reached down and took a hold of the younger man's arm. Harry held his breath as the man pulled away the sleeve, exposing the familiar Dark Mark that flawed Malfoy's pale skin. The blonde's nostrils flared but he didn't pull away. His jaw visibly tightened.

"Funny. I thought it'd fade," Robards muttered to himself. He let go of Malfoy's hand and barred his teeth slightly in disgust. For a second Harry believed that Malfoy would attack, as insulting as Robards was being to him, to all of them. But nothing happened, and Harry was left puzzled.

"The second thing you will learn," Robards repeated, as he resumed his circling, "is to never, ever, close your eyes."

"Ever?" Ron asked.

"Weasley, is it?"

Ron nodded.

"Well, you see, Weasley. You never know who might be lurking behind you."

They all turned to look behind them. Harry was unsettled. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He was sure that the others felt something amiss, too.

"Or who might be lurking in plain sight." Robards' voice became quieter. "There are ways, you see. To conceal. And to disguise…that make easy prey." Robards stood in front of them, about two yards away. His voice was nearly inaudible. "So you…" He took a step back. "…always…" He took another. "…have to be ready."

Harry saw it before the others. Robards' hand flew to grab his wand, and Harry did the same. He flung it up swiftly, calling for a defensive spell just as a jet of red light flew towards them. Harry was thrust backwards at the force of the spell, his electric blue shield nearly shattering in the process. The others reacted quickly after that. They pulled out their wands, just as figures materialized around the room, surrounding them. Five in all, wearing dark cloaks and hoods, their wands shooting spells directly into their group.

A jet of red whistled right past Harry's right ear and he turned to see who had cast it.

"Harry, your left!" Ron shouted.

Harry twisted his body just in time, shielding himself from a spell cast in his direction. Immediately he sent two stunning spells in a row, successfully hitting one of the cloaked figures, who crumpled to the ground. Shot after shot was sent in his direction and he deflected each one. He managed to hit another attacker after the man had unsuccessfully shot at Harry from behind. There was no place to hide; the room was an open field. He heard Dean groan as his body crashed into the wall. He fell to the ground unmoving. Risking a quick look towards Ron, Harry saw with panic that the redhead had been overpowered by one of the figures and was now on the ground, body-bound by magic. Furious, Harry rushed forward, tackling Ron's aggressor and managed to disarm him. The cloak fell and he was startled to see his own face looking back at him. Harry retreated. The clothes of his attacker quickly transformed to match what Harry was wearing. Harry stared in disbelief.

The other Harry opened his mouth, "Draco!"

Malfoy, who had just managed to disarm his own opponent, turned to the scene: Harry pointing his wand to the person on the ground, who was also Harry.

"Draco, help," the attacker said.

Harry tensed, his voice caught in his throat. Malfoy had pointed his wand directly at his chest. They looked at one another. Harry's emerald eyes, filled with anxiety, and Malfoy's cold silver ones, unreadable.

The attacker took the opportunity to grab his wand from the floor, raising it for a curse. Harry braced himself for a double hit, his mouth opening to call for his shield, but just then a flash of light lit up the entire room. Harry was blind for moment. When his vision cleared, the attacker was laying on the floor, unconscious; his body and face slowly turned back to their original form.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His hair was drenched in sweat, his muscles still tensed after the fight. Malfoy still had his wand raised.

\-------------

A wave if relief stole through Draco. He hadn't been all too sure that he was hitting the right person. The split second that he'd looked into Potter eyes…those clear green eyes…Draco shivered. It was the first time he'd actually looked into Potter's eyes and hadn't seen hate in them. He hoped never look at them that closely again. It was all that and the fact that Potter would never address him by his first name that he'd chosen to aim his spell at the other wizard. It all worked out, he supposed.

Draco took in the scene around them. The ordeal had lasted not ten minutes. The cloaked men were slowly stirring on the ground. Potter had run over to Weasley and Thomas, who were dusting themselves off shakily. He wondered whether he should go and help but thought better of it. He remained where he was, his wand still clenched in his hand. He raised it when he saw Robards stand up and straighten his robe.

"Adrian, please take Ronan to the infirmary. Your team is dismissed."

"Yes, sir." Adrian, a tall and slender man with short brown hair, got up quickly, limping and waved his wand at the shape-shifter on the floor, who had yet to wake up from the spell Draco had shot at him.

"What the hell was that?" Weasley demanded, holding onto his arm, which had turned purple. "You could've killed us!"

"That's enough, Weasley," Robards said. Weasley scowled in response.

"Looks like they wanted to see how well we fight," Draco said, lowering his wand and walking over to the group. Strength in numbers after all.

"You are correct, Malfoy. And what an impressive ability you have. None of my Aurors have ever been knocked down quite so powerfully."

"Good thing you're looking for new ones then. Out with the old, in with the new."

Robards narrowed his eyes but didn't respond. He waited until all the cloaked Aurors had left the hall before addressing them again.

"Although you have survived your interview, I expect a greater deal of work to be done regarding your fighting abilities. Mr. Thomas, I think we will have to work on your periphery. It will not fare well if you are focusing only on one target. You have to be aware of everything that is happening in your surrounding all at once. It is vital and it means the difference between living and being at the receiving end of an Unforgivable. It is something that can be worked on. I would like to invite you to join us back here tomorrow morning for your trial period."

The trial period, Draco thought as the adrenaline slowly left his body, would last approximately one month and would determine whether they would qualify to move on to actual Auror training, which would take another three years to complete.

Robards continued talking to Thomas, "I suggest you visit the infirmary before heading home. You are free to go," Robards said. Thomas thanked him, shook his hand and made his way carefully through the double doors.

"Mr. Weasley, being a part of this organization means that you are not looking after yourself anymore. You have your team, and in the future you'll have other people's lives at your hands as well. You have showed me that you are aware of the fact by calling out to your team member before he could be hit. I will see you tomorrow morning to begin your trial period. Stop by the infirmary so Katherine can have a look at your arm. You are free to go."

Weasley left, looking extremely pleased with himself. Draco nearly scoffed. He glanced at Potter, who had a foolish grin on his face as he watched the lanky, ginger-haired man walk out of the room. Seriously, how could he smile with so much freedom? Draco found himself wondering about the last time he'd ever smiled that way. He couldn't remember.

"Mr. Potter, you have an astounding fighting ability. Your magic seems to come almost naturally to you. That being said, you're not using your abilities at your full potential. You hesitate, afraid even of your power, and that kind of thing will get you killed. Trust yourself, Potter. I will see you in the morning."

Draco watched the younger man walk away without a second look in his direction. Draco clenched his teeth. He could've at least shown some sort of gratitude towards him for saving his life. Granted, the fight hadn't been deadly. Draco shook a stray hair away from his face. Still. The double doors shut with a loud thud. He turned back to Robards.  
Robards spoke, "Have you been training with anyone, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco blinked and was quiet for a moment.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't expect Ronan to be up for a few hours after what you threw at him. I was inquiring of your previous training, if any, that you've done."  
Draco frowned internally. Why hadn't Robards asked the others the same question?

Out of habit, he reached for his forearm and realized what the other man must have meant. He had taken particular interest in Draco's dark mark earlier during the inspection. "I thought it'd fade…" Robards had said. Did the guy really expect him to talk about the Dark Lord? Perhaps, to explain the various things he learned from the darkest wizard of recent times? He struggled to keep a straight face, though he felt his anger rising.

"I've never had any formal training, besides my schooling, if that's what you mean. I follow my instincts and nothing more."  
Robards studied him for a moment longer. "Fair enough. I will see you in the morning. You're dismissed."

oOo

"Where were you today, Drake?"

Draco was at the kitchen table, a plate of food sitting uneaten in front of him. He didn't have much of an appetite. There was too much to think about after his interview. The fact that he'd actually made it, actually passed. The fact the he will now be working with his former enemy, Harry Potter.  
Former?

He reached into his pocket for his Camel pack, in need of a smoke, but found the package empty. He cursed.

Blaise, who was sitting opposite him, tapped on the table to grab his attention. "Hey. I'm talking to you."

Draco took his time in answering. After all, he wasn't just some lowly servant to be tapped to attention. "What is it?"

" _Where. Were you. Today."  
_

"Around," Draco responded.

"Around," Blaise repeated.

Draco avoided the man's eyes. Did he always have to keep a tab on where he was? Can't Draco have a little privacy in his life?

"Well, where is 'around' exactly?" Blaise asked loudly. He raised his flask and took a long swig. If he kept at it he would be incomprehensible by the end of the night.

Draco felt an argument coming along. He could just answer the question. Calm the man down. Blaise was a stubborn, controlling bastard who always needed things done his way. It'd been like that ever since their school days. And even more so if he was inebriated. Draco liked to think that during the worst instances, that Blaise's temper could even rival that of the Dark Lord. Probably an exaggeration, but it would spike Draco's amusement all the same. Lucky for Draco, he was exactly the same way.

Draco stood up from the table and made his way to the living room in search of a cigarette. He heard Blaise following behind.

Draco checked the cabinet drawers and the top of one of the bookshelves. There! He pulled down a fresh pack and took a cigarette out, lit it, and took a long drag. He let his breath out slowly, feeling his nerves calm. He didn't turn around to face Blaise.

"Why can't you just answer my fucking question, Drake? It's a simple fucking question."

"I'm really not in the mood for your shit tonight, Blaise. So back the fuck off my dick, will you?"

Before he could take in another drag he was thrown forcefully onto the couch, his cig and his pack falling from his hand.

"Blaise, what the fuck—" A hand closed around his throat. Not choking him, but hard enough to hold him in place. "Blaise-" Draco reached for his waistband.

"Oh, no you don't you little bitch," he hissed. Blaise threw his wand out of reach. The hand that wasn't on Draco's throat closed around his hands and held them still.

Despite Draco's efforts to pry him off his body, the other man was taller and much stronger. "I'll teach you to talk to me like that."

Draco was having trouble breathing and when his throat was finally released he hadn't enough time to take a breath before Blaise's mouth was over his own, his tongue intruding forcefully in between his lips. He reeked of fire whiskey and he tried in vain to push him off again. Draco's hands were placed over his head and Blaise moved his mouth down to Draco's jaw line. He felt an unwelcome twinge below his navel. He was breathing hard, and he closed his eyes as Blaise bit a particularly sensitive spot near his earlobe, eliciting a gasp from Draco's lips. Blaise laughed softly. Fucking bastard.

oOo

A while later Draco slipped back into his trousers and carefully stooped to pick up his pack from the floor. The lit cigarette had burned out, leaving a small scorch mark on the shiny wooden floor. He vanished the mark with a wave of his wand.

Inhaling a newly lit fag, he went to grab a blanket from one of the cupboards in the hallways and threw it over the young man the couch, who lay passed out. He watched him for a moment, not really knowing what he was feeling, preferring to ignore the dull ache somewhere in his chest.

He made his way to the shower and turned it on. After closer inspection, Draco found five fresh bruises on his body. He rubbed at a particularly nasty purple bruise on his hip bone, willing it to disappear. It wasn't the first time Blaise had been violent. At the start, Draco had found his roughness sort of appealing, something familiar. Something that he could handle. But now it had taken over their friendship and Draco found it difficult to remember the last proper conversation they'd had.

He undressed, stepping into the shower, and forced himself under the scalding hot water that was spraying against his skin. He clenched his teeth, rubbing away at the skin on his arms, his chest, his legs, willing for the water to wash away the filth that he could feel eating away at him slowly, slowly.

oOo

_End Chapter One  
_

_Passive Aggressive—Placebo_


	2. What Was Stolen From Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have passed their DMLE interview! What could be in store for them next?

_Author’s Note: language, mild violence, and sexual content._

Harry emerged from the elevator onto Level Two the following morning, thankfully Malfoy free, and proceeded down the hall towards the double doors. He found himself hoping that Malfoy hadn’t passed the test the day before. Though he hated to admit it, Malfoy had improved greatly in his dueling abilities. He remembered some not-so-innocent scuffles during their sixth year, one which had left the other boy close to death on the bathroom floor. There had been so much blood and Harry had feared the worst. But the boy had recovered, and returned to his normal villainous self.  


Needless to say, Malfoy had proved to be more than ready during their fight with the Aurors and Harry wouldn’t question it if he saw the man already inside the hall. Sure enough after entering through the doors, he spotted the blonde man seated alone on a bench at the far end of the room. His long legs were crossed, the folds of his trousers sharply creased, his hands folded neatly on his lap. The man spotted Harry when he entered and gave a wave of an eyebrow before turning his attention elsewhere.  


The room was no longer an open field, but rather a front office of sorts. Large oak desks were scattered around the room, separated into little cubicles, with a witch or wizard seated in each. Parchment and books littered each of their desks.  


“Oi, Harry!”  


Harry spotted Ron and Dean seated at a different bench some distance away, signaling him over.  


“We were trying to contact you last night, mate,” Ron said once Harry reached them. “Mum had a whole feast going in celebration. Even Dean came along.”  


Harry reached up to run a hand through his hair, not willing to admit that he’d been up all night with a cold sweat. “I was a bit tired actually. I turned in early.”  


“It’s too bad you missed it, Harry. We had a game of Quidditch after dinner. My team won.” Dean gave him a winning smile.  


“Only because you insisted on having Ginny on your team and she’s the best of all of us after Harry!”  


“I guess I won’t deny that. She is _really_ good,” said Dean. He shot Harry an all-knowing look, which Harry did not return. Instead, Harry cleared his throat, feeling heat rising to his face.  


Thankfully, Ron had caught nothing and continued, “Anyway, you should come over after training.”  


“Yeah, maybe.”  


“Oh, no. You’re not getting out of this one, mate. I’m not gonna have Hermione yell at me again for coming home without you,” Ron said with a scowl.  


“Fine. I’ll go home with you,” Harry responded with a roll of his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder towards where Malfoy sat and gave a little start when he found the other young man staring right at him.

\--------------- 

Draco allowed himself a small smirk when Potter turned away from him quickly. Since when had Potter become so…jumpy? He watched them for moment longer, the Weasley kid chatting away their ears. Draco pursed his lips. How a Weasley had ever come to be an Auror-in-Training, he didn’t know. And that Thomas bloke? He didn’t think there was anything special about him. Another Gryffindor out to save the bloody world.  


His eyes naturally landed back on Potter, whose hand was ruffling his already disheveled hair. Noble Gryffindor git. It’s like he got off on saving other people’s lives or something. He supposed it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Potter had chosen this line of work. Even at school he’d been an insufferable sort of hero. The Golden Boy. It drove him mad thinking about it. Which is exactly why he’d taken so much effort in trying to stifle Potter into submission throughout their whole Hogwarts years.  


A nagging though crossed Draco’s mind. Then what exactly was _he_ doing here? He glanced down at his forearm, which was conveniently covered in a long sleeve black dress shirt to avoid any unwanted stares. He’d gotten enough of that yesterday during the interview. He knew what those wizards thought of him; why should he put in the effort to change their perspective of him? Would it be worth it in the end?  


A whisper floated into his hearing range and he snapped out of his reverie. His eyes narrowed. Maybe he’d heard wrong.  


“Ex-Death Eater?”  


“Malfoy?”  


“Yeah, that’s him. I’m telling you. Look at his hair.”  


“How’d they let that happen?” Panic in their voices.  


The whispers were coming from the people sitting at the desks. A copy of that morning’s Prophet was clenched in their hands. They paled when they noticed Draco’s attention. With a small huff of irritation, Draco got up and made his way over to them. Satisfaction burned through him when one of the young witches shrank in her seat. She clutched the Prophet to her chest.  


“Hey, darling, you mind if I take a look?” Draco said, leaning close to her and motioning to the paper. The girl flushed a deep scarlet but wouldn’t budge. “Oh, come on. Just one peek.” Draco gave her a dangerous smile that he knew she wouldn’t be able to resist. Her hold slackened. In one fluid motion he slipped the paper away from her fingers and turned to the front page. He stiffened.  


There he was. His father. Staring back at him with his long silver hair no longer shiny. His eyes, which once held a familiar sinister glint, were now crazed and gaunt. He let out a shaky breath.  


Is this what had become of his father? Is this what Azkaban had done to him?  


He could feel the blood draining from his face as he read the headline:

**Son of Death Eater Now a Current Member at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement**

Draco was spared the effort of reading the article when it was taken away from his hands. Potter stood in front of him looking at him with…what was that? Pity? Draco felt his blood boil. He didn’t have to read the article in order to guess what it was implying. Draco Malfoy, son of an infamous Death Eater, now joining forces with the Ministry, the very people that had brought his father into Azkaban. How suspicious, they must think.  


“Malfoy?”  


There was no questioning the intention behind whoever wrote the article. He clenched and unclenched his teeth, trying with difficulty to calm the anger that was bubbling inside of him.  


“Malfoy,” Potter said quietly.  


The hall had gone silent. They looked at Potter, then at Draco as though one of them would explode at any moment. It only fueled Draco’s rising anger. He nearly laughed. The reality of it seemed all too clear.  


The Wizarding World was an unforgiving piece of shit.

\-----------------

Harry bit his lip, wondering what to say. Eventually, “It’ll blow over. Don’t let it get under your skin.”  


“No one asked you opinion, Potter,” Malfoy said harshly.  


Harry, for once, disregarded the comment and gave the copy of the paper back to the girl seated at her desk. She took it timidly. It was unsettling the way Malfoy’s eyes had gone cold. It reminded him of the boy he’d grown use to back at Hogwarts. Filled with spite and malice. Maybe he hadn’t changed. He couldn’t have changed in such a short amount of time. But he couldn’t help but sympathize with the other man. After all, Harry’s been in the public’s eye for years and it’s never once been a pleasant experience.  


Just then, a paper airplane slipped through the cracks of the doors. Harry recognized it as the inter-office memos that the Ministry used in place of owl post. Harry took it, as it had stopped in front of his nose.  


“What’s it say?” Dean asked as he and Ron moved in to join them.  


“Follow the Auror corridor…Training in the caverns. Signed: Robards,” Harry read.  


“The caverns?”  


Harry shrugged. “Guess we should head over then.”  


With a final glance at Malfoy, who turned away with a clench of his jaw, they made their way through the Auror hallway, occasionally passing an office. Most of them were unoccupied. They were silent as they walked, finally coming upon a shabby-looking elevator at the end of the hall.  


“They really expect us to go down on this? It looks about ready to collapse,” Ron said, unwilling to step inside.  
Malfoy, however, was already stepping in. Harry followed lead.  


“Why don’t you just go back to your mother then, Weasley? This isn’t a place for the faint of heart.”  


“Why don’t you shove it, Malfoy,” Ron spat at him with a scowl.  


“Come on, mate. I’m sure it’s safe,” Dean gave him a pat on the back and stepped inside.  


Upon reaching the bottom, they descended further down a set of twisting, narrow stairs. It was dark; the walls were moist and the air smelled unpleasant, as though there hadn’t been a fresh breeze in years. Harry guessed they were miles below London. Eventually, they emerged into one of the training rooms.  


Seated at a long office table were Robards and next to him, one of the cloaked attackers from the previous day. A haze hung about the room; a sweet, earthy aroma was emanating from the cauldron located towards the back. Shelves lined the walls; a grand bookcase stood towards their right.  


Robards motioned for them to sit. They sat.  


“Suffice it to say that yesterday wasn’t the best moment for introductions,” he told them. “Again, I am Gawain Robards, Head Auror here at the DMLE. To my left here is Arthur Williamson who’s now going on a decade of service as an Auror. He’s currently one youngest Potions Master at the Ministry and one of our most highly trained healers. He will be the one leading you through the beginning portion of your trial period.  


“But before I leave you all with Williamson, we’ve a few things to discuss regarding the following month. The trial period is necessary in order for us to determine the best candidates to continue on as Aurors-in-Training, or A.T.’s for short, and will cover a variety of subjects including: Poison’s and Antidotes, Concealment and Disguise, Stealth and Tracking, and finally Combat and Dueling. As you may have noticed, your cohort is fairly small but common since we thoroughly examine every applicant and take only those with the highest marks. The same applies to the trial period. Each week you will receive marks based upon how well you have done with the material presented to you and at the end only those who have received high marks will move on to actual training.  


“Now, to make this month as engaging as possible, it is a requirement for you all to remain at Auror Headquarters. No outside contact, no leaving the premises at any time during the duration of your trial. You have only tonight, to take care of any final business and be back tomorrow prepared and ready to begin. The only thing you will need is your wand, nothing more. Everything else will be provided by the DMLE. Any questions?”  


“No, sir,” they replied.  


“Then without further ado.” Robards nodded to Williamson and left the room.  


Williamson, the man with a large nose, turned to them.  


“Here at Auror Headquarters we’re not training to become fully-fledged Healers or Masters in the Art of Potion making. Nevertheless, it is a requirement for Aurors to be trained in the most basic poisons, potions, and antidotes, and to thoroughly understand each and every one of their properties.”  


Williamson rose from his chair and walked over to the cauldron at the back of the room. “One of the first things that I will be having you work on is a simple concoction,” he said, and motioned for them to come closer. Harry and the others walked over to where he stood, looking into the contents of the cauldron. There was a pale green mixture, slowly solidifying as Williamson stirred it with a ladle. “I’m sure you’ll recognize this from your N.E.W.T.’s as you were required to make this particular salve.”  


“The Star-Grass Salve,” Malfoy’s voice came from behind Harry. Ron scowled.  


“Correct, Mr. Malfoy. The Star-Grass Salve is the most common and highly useful of healing salves, healing as deep as a quarter to half an inch of broken skin depending on how well it is made. And it of course can be used on simple cuts and bruises as well. All Aurors who are out on the field are currently required to carry a small amount on their person if possible.”  


He walked over to the blackboard, which was attached to the rock wall behind. He tapped it with his wand and instructions appeared in quick, scrawled writing.  


“There is a cabinet behind me filled with ingredients and tools. You will have as long as is required for you to produce a _successful_ healing salve, which I will be testing towards the end of our session. You may begin.”  


Malfoy swiftly headed towards the herbs and grass cabinet before the others did, reaching in and taking various ingredients into his arms. Cauldrons had appeared on the table, and Harry took his position in front of one, feeling all nerves as he placed his own ingredients next to him on the table.  


They spent the remainder of the afternoon concocting the healing salve, after much direction from Williamson who had told all of them at least twice to begin the process all over again when they made a mistake. Ron was already on his fourth try, ears aflame as the room had gotten much, much warmer. The rest of his cohort wasn’t doing much better by the looks of it. Dean’s eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, the sleeves of his shirt folded up to his elbow as he stirred his cauldron. Malfoy’s blond hair was sticking to the sides of his jaw, his cheeks flushed from the effort and heat in the room. He made eye contact with Harry for a second. Harry, not realizing that he was staring so intently, blushed when Malfoy continued to stare back.  


After a long while, Harry’s own cauldron wasn’t looking too bad: the salve was beginning to cool and thicken, with the pale green hue similar to the one sitting at the back of the room. After closer inspection he found that the consistency seemed to be just about right for what Williamson had shown them. Not too soft, smooth and easily applicable. He scooped a bit of it and filled a small glass container with his salve, smoothing out the top of it. Feeling rather proud of his work, he stepped back and wiped his brow, running a hand through his slightly soaked hair.  


The others were also putting their own mix into their containers. Williamson stood up. He took a knife out of his pocket, one with a small amethyst encrusted at the hilt, and unsheathed it. He reached out his right hand and sliced his palm without a second’s hesitation.  


“The Star-Grass Salve, if made properly, should take effect almost immediately,” he told them as blood began to pool on his hand. He motioned Dean to come forward with his salve. He took some on his left hand and spread it over the torn skin. “Repairing damaged skin, small cuts, scrapes, and bruises.” They watched as his skin began to stitch itself together. Williamson did this thrice more with the rest of their salves, each one healing his palm within the minute.  


“Now,” Williamson continued, handing Harry’s salve back to him. “There are much more powerful healing salves, temporary ones that can hold more severely torn skin together while you find a proper Healer to dress the wound. In addition, we have spells that we can use to our advantage during situations where we don’t have the time to take out that bottle of Star-Grass. We’ll be working on both these things tomorrow when you come back. In preparation, I’d like you all to practice this healing spell. Have it in your arsenal because it will most definitely be of use to you in the future.”  


Williamson once again sliced the palm of his hand, asking them to listen closely as he muttered a spell to stitch the skin back together. They repeated it. Repeated it until Williamson was satisfied, and dismissed them all for the day.

They arrived at the Burrow late in the evening. They’d spent nearly the entire day in the caverns and Harry felt starved and lightheaded. He had the feeling that every single session would be the same. He wasn’t sure how to feel about working with Malfoy. He had to accept it, didn’t he? Eventually they would become part of a team and, regardless of the past, would most likely be forced to work closely together. For the moment, Harry chose to ignore the fact and smiled as Mrs. Weasley hurried over to him, fussing at his weight loss and pale complexion.  


“Where’s Hermione and Ginny?” Harry asked. The Burrow was unusually quiet since most of the Weasley children had moved out on their own.  


“Probably out on the brooms,” answered Ron. “Let’s go have a look.”  


They walked out onto the back and through the cluttered lawn, spotting an occasional gnome, which Ron would snatch with surprising speed, flinging it over the hedge away from the yard. As they approached the hill, they could just make out a figure in the darkening sky.  


They spotted Hermione sitting on a small boulder, hunched over a book on her lap.  


“Leave it to you to be three years out of Hogwarts and still have your nose stuck in a book,” Harry said. Hermione looked up, her smile widening as she saw who it was.  


“Harry!” She flung herself to him, squeezing him tightly.  


“Good to see you too, sweetheart,” Ron said, eyeing Harry in mock jealousy.  


“Shut up, Ronald. I see you every day,” Hermione said, though she disentangled herself from Harry and gave Ron a kiss on the cheek. “And for your information,” Hermione said as she held up a book entitled, “ _Healing for the Intermediate Healer: Advice for the Beginning Medi Witch and Wizard_.” “I’m catching up on my studies. Today we had to accompany some of the Healers while they diagnosed the patients, and they even had some of the apprentices do it as well.”  


“And how did that go for you?” Harry asked, though he already knew the answer.  


“Very well, actually,” she said happily. “How was training today? I heard yesterday was a disaster.”  


“It wasn’t that bad--” began Harry.  


“It was awful! It was like being in Snape’s class, only ten times worse,” Ron said. Hermione elbowed him sharply and Ron was about to protest when he caught sight of Harry.  


Harry had looked down, feeling a small wave of grief at the thought of their old Potion’s professor. Though they knew that Snape had been innocent all along, it was only Harry who knew how far the man had truly gone for the sake of his love. For the sake of Harry’s mother.  


“Let’s get inside, your mum might need help with dinner,” Hermione said quickly. She lit her wand and sent sparks flying high above them, signaling for Ginny to come down.  


“You guys go ahead, I’ll wait for Ginny.” They left.  


“Come down, please,” Harry called to her after a minute of waiting. He squinted into the sky but it had gotten too dark to see Ginny clearly.  


“No,” he heard her say back to him. Harry fought back a smile. He hadn’t heard her voice in a while.  


“You’ll miss dinner…Where are you?”  


“Not hungry.”  


“Why won’t you come down?”  


“Because.”  


Harry took out his wand and lit it, hoping to illuminate Ginny’s location. He could just make her out in the distance above. Her vibrant red hair, maroon in the moonlight, flowing down her shoulders. She was steadily rising higher. Slowly. He gave her a smile.  


“Because?” he inquired.  


“I’m hoping to keep you looking for me. For just while longer…”  


“What?” Harry strained to hear. She’d gone too far from him.  


“Harry, catch me!” Ginny yelled and she hurled towards him on the broom.  


“You’re mad!” Harry laughed. But Ginny wasn’t pulling up. “Ginny, pull up! Gin—pull up, pull up!” Harry lunged forward and felt all the air leave his lungs as Ginny lept from her broom and into Harry’s general direction. They hit the ground hard.  


“Oh Merlin, that was fun!” Ginny beamed down at him.  


Harry groaned and motioned towards his lungs, which Ginny was currently resting all her weight on.  


“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry.”  


Harry gulped in a lung-full of air. “Thanks,” he breathed.  


They sat up mere inches from one another. Ginny’s hair had gotten longer. Harry could smell the strawberries and cinnamon when she flipped her hair over her shoulder. She inched closer and Harry could see the freckles he’d often connect into small constellations in the early hours of the morning when they were still together, before sneaking back into his own room. It would be so easy. So easy to just go back to the life he’d had before. Her light blue eyes lowered themselves to Harry’s lips and Harry did the same, watched as she moistened her own with a sweep of her tongue. Harry felt guilty. Guilty because the spark was no longer there. The quickening of his heart was absent. What was wrong with him? He turned away, biting his lip hard in punishment.  


Ginny smiled and got up quickly, reaching a hand down to help him off the ground. “Come on, Harry. I’m starving.”

oOo 

Draco was breathing hard, his chest heaving as he felt the adrenaline slowly leaving his body. A copy of that morning’s Prophet lay crumpled on the floor—the one Potter had taken away from him before he could read it—among other things that he’d flung across the room in frustration. They’d insulted him, his family, shamed his mother, and called her a coward for her death. Draco growled. Of course, those weren’t the exact words written in the paper, but they might as well have been printed there. They were certainly present in the countless letters and howlers that had somehow found their way into his apartment. People screeching words and curses that had even surprised him. Suggesting that Draco himself should also have been sent to Azkaban to rot with his Death Eater father. Certainly there were things in his life that he’d done, regretted, felt ashamed for. But, for Merlin’s sake, he’d paid for his sins! Hadn’t he?  


A sting in his hands made him look down. A few small cuts littered his palms, probably from the glass ornaments that he’d taken from his dresser and shattered against the wall. He healed them with a wave of his wand.  


He was relieved that Blaise hadn’t been home. He was probably working at the shop. He’d taken over Borgin and Burkes from his father after the war. No doubt he’d read the Prophet as well. Draco knew the reaction from him wasn’t going to be pleasant. He bent down and once again looked at the picture of his father. He looked so different, a far cry from the man Draco had admired when he was younger. He took out his wand, and lit the image on fire, watching as the pages smoldered and disappeared into ashes. He quickly set the room back to its original order and cursed when he noticed the stains on his shirt and pants, most likely from the potion brewing earlier that day.  


It had been challenging, Draco thought as he removed his clothes and carefully spelled them clean, hanging them back in his closet. Challenging and exhausting and he felt it would only get harder as the sessions went by.  


And what the hell were those stares Potter had been throwing at him? Intruding. Too curious for his own good, he thought angrily as he slipped into his sweats.  
He heard the front door open and he sighed wearily. He went to his bed and sat, reaching for his pack and lighting the cig with his wand. He placed the pack on the bedside table and left his wand resting on his lap.  


“Drake!”  


“Fucking hell,” Draco muttered quietly.  


Blaise came into his room, holding that _damn_ Daily Prophet up in front of his nose.  


“An Auror, Draco? A fucking _Auror_? Is that what you’ve been up to? What the fuck are you thinking? They’re the ones who put our fathers in Azkaban you fucking twat!” He threw the paper at him.  


Draco exhaled slowly, willing himself to calm down before he stunned the man in front of him. It’d be too messy. “I don’t need to explain myself to you,” he said coldly.  


“The fuck you don’t,” Blaise said, the anger very clear on his face. Draco could see his muscles tensing ready to lunge at him, but he raised his wand in a heartbeat.  


“Just try it, Zabini. Fucking try it and I’ll blast your fucking face off.”  


Blaise was looking murderous, seething as he considered what to do next. He took a step back and walked towards the door. “You’ll regret it, Drake. Just you wait.”

_End Chapter Two_

_Through the Desert Alone—Circa Survive_


	3. Sleeping With Ghosts

_Author’s Note: Language, mild-violence, dark topics_

Harry awoke the following morning drenched in sweat, his sheets wrapped tightly around his limbs. His magic was flowing in bright red ringlets around him, uncontrolled, until it settled into a quiet static around his body. He'd been back at Hogwarts in his dream, at the height of their battle with Voldemort. The Weasley's cries still rang in his ears. Fred lay on the ground, covered in dirt and blood, but his face was serene. As though he'd only fallen asleep. 

Harry untangled himself from his bed and rushed to the bathroom, biting his tongue to rid himself of the nausea that threatened his stomach. He washed his face with cold water, shivering as tiny droplets ran down his neck and on to his chest. He chanced a look into the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes, the result of not having a decent night's sleep in a long while. He felt a little better after taking a quick shower and then made his way downstairs to make some breakfast. 

Just as he was heating up the water for tea he heard some shuffling across the hall in the sitting room. Harry wasn't worried; he'd allowed the wards in the fireplace to key in the Weasley's and Hermione in case they decided to drop by. 

"Hey, Herms, in the kitchen," Harry called to her. To his surprise it was Ron who appeared at the doorway of the kitchen, dusting off his cloak before giving Harry a grin. 

"Hey, mate." 

"Oh, hey, Ron. I wasn't expecting you. Care for an omelet? Tea?" Harry smiled as Ron plopped himself down on the kitchen table. 

"Just tea, thanks." 

Harry poured two cups and handed one to Ron before sitting himself down across the table. They had an hour before they had to appear at Headquarters for the start of their session so they conversed casually, sipping at their tea. 

"What do you reckon is Malfoy's deal, though?" Ron asked after a few minutes of small talk. "I never would've though a bloke like him would want to be an Auror, you know? I mean, how'd they even let him in knowing he used to be a Death Eater? He probably bribed the lot of them like how Lucius did back then." 

"I don't know," Harry shrugged, scratching at a dent on the wooden surface. He looked up. "You think maybe he's changed? He was cleared of all charges during the trials." 

"Yes, because you were the one to clear his name!" 

"He saved our lives, back then, though…" Harry said. 

"We wouldn't have needed any saving if he'd never become a Death Eater." 

Harry frowned and said nothing. 

"Besides," Ron continued, "The slimy git would never be able to change his ways. They're probably too ingrained in his filthy pure blooded veins." 

Harry nodded, more to placate Ron than because he was agreeing. 

"He's got some ulterior motive," Ron said darkly. 

"What do you mean? Like a plan to attack the Ministry from the inside?" Harry asked, his eyebrows creasing. 

"Well, I don't know. Yeah." Ron shrugged. "You really can't expect a Death Eater to just turn good all of a sudden can you? 

"I suppose not," Harry said, motioning for Ron to hand him his blue collared shirt, which was lying on top of the chair to avoid any stains. Harry slipped into it and then shrugged on his cloak. "But what about Severus? He was a Death Eater. And look how he turned out. He'd always been loyal to Dumbledore." 

"Isolated case. I wouldn't put it past Malfoy to want to avenge his father for what they did to him." 

"You think?" 

They brooded for a moment longer, sipping at their drinks. 

"Definitely not looking forward to sleeping together with the git." 

"Neither am I," Harry said, thinking that he wouldn't like sleeping with anyone knowing how little control he has over his magic when he first wakes up. 

"Hey, mate?" Ron said hesitantly, setting down his now empty cup and tugging on his own cloak. "I…er…wanted to ask you something. It's actually the reason for stopping by." His ears turned a bright pink. 

Harry quirked an eyebrow and fought his annoyance at what he was sure was coming next. Ron was probably going to ask Harry to move back in to the Burrow. He thought he'd get straight to the point and said, "Hermione asked you to stop by didn't she?" 

"What? No," Ron said, momentarily distracted. "She doesn't even know I'm here." 

"Really?" Harry narrowed his eyes. 

"Really. Well, anyway, I wanted to ask you…but, I suppose it's not really a question but more of a, you know, a statement…" Ron was shooting glances at him, probably hoping for Harry to guess at what he was trying to say. Harry frowned and made a hand motion to indicate that he wasn't following. Ron pulled the collar of his cloak. "I, you know, I've been thinking about asking for a while, erm, but I couldn't figure out a way to, er, you know—" 

"No, I don't know. Spit it out Ron." 

Ron picked up his empty cup and sipped it, setting it down again and moving it to the center of the table. He picked it up again and moved it towards his mouth. 

"Care for some more tea?" Harry asked, dryly. 

Ron cleared his throat, placing the cup back on the table and moving his hands to his lap. He took a deep breath and held it. Harry leaned closer to him expectantly. 

"I'm gonna ask Hermione to marry me," he rushed. 

Harry's mouth fell open. His mind went blank. Ron? Ron and Hermione? Married? 

After noticing that Ron was holding his breath once more waiting for an answer, Harry closed his mouth and swallowed. He ignored the strange sinking feeling in his chest, and grinned. 

"Oh my fucking god." 

Ron's ears, if possible, reddened even more. 

"I just thought—" Ron didn't get to finish his sentence. Harry had thrown himself at his best friend, embracing him. Ron laughed. "Does that mean you approve, Harry?" 

"Approve? Of course I approve you lucky man. Are you planning on asking her any time soon?" He pulled away from him. 

"Yeah, I'm thinking next month once we get out of the trial period. September nineteenth," Ron said, grinning. 

"On her birthday? She'll be ecstatic." 

"It's what I'm going for…but, Harry…do you think it's too soon?" 

Harry swallowed, smiled, and said, "No, of course not. You've gone out for nearly three years. Way longer than when George and Angelina got married. And look, they've already got Fred Jr." 

"I know. But do you think Hermione's ready? I mean, I always thought that, you know, once I find a decent job I'll be able to take care of her. I think this is my chance. I've made it, haven't I?" 

"Ron, I don't think you have much to worry about. You're a powerful wizard. You'll go far, and I know you'll take good care of her. You'll make her happy. You already do." He patted his shoulder and smiled despite the strange feeling that was overcoming him. In all honesty, Harry had never thought about the time that was passing by. Everyone around him seemed to be moving forward, moving on with their lives. The years had gone by so quickly that he hadn't noticed how much they've all grown, matured, ready to start a family. Not for the first time Harry wondered if he would ever have a family of his own. The future seemed very bleak in that respect. 

"Harry?" 

"Sorry, yeah?" 

"Reckon we should head to training." 

"Oh, yes we should." They got up. "Hey, Ron." Harry turned to face him again. "I'm happy for you." They grinned and embraced once more before heading out to the Ministry. 

oOo 

During their session later that day, Williamson had them practicing the healing spell from the previous session. It was fairly easy for Harry even when Robards stepped into the training room to announce that they were only allowed to cast nonverbal spells for the entirety of their training. This was supposed to help in their dueling and combat training, to ensure that they had no trouble when faced with a skilled opponent, and to increase their magical stamina, since silent spells required a lot of energy. Harry wasn't too nervous about this new standard since he'd been practicing the use of non-verbal spells for years. In fact, he looked forward to the challenge of dueling silently. It would give him the upper-hand when facing an adversary, a second's advantage that could mean victory in battle. 

After a few tries at the silent healing spell Harry had mastered it and moved on to brew the Antidote to Common Poisons and Antidote to Uncommon Poisons, which Williamson had assigned to them on the board. It became natural, after another day of working with Williamson, to begin their potion all over again if they made even the smallest of mistakes, without being told to do so. 

Harry and the others were once again drenched with perspiration, stirring their cauldrons and concentrating on not messing up their potion. It was strange, and perhaps it was a good thing that Harry was holding so much concentration on his own work, that he wasn't bothered with the fact that Malfoy was working next to him, an arm's length away. He seemed tame, not at all like the hot-headed Slytherin that Harry remembered from Hogwarts. Maybe he'd grown up, too. 

Williamson stepped out of the training room. 

"You seem to have grown an unnatural habit of staring at me, Potter," he heard Malfoy say, low enough for only Harry to hear. 

"I wasn't," Harry said, adding a few herbs to his potion. It sizzled quietly, letting off steam that thankfully covered the heat that was crawling into Harry's face. Malfoy only smirked and turned back to his cauldron. 

oOo 

Later that evening after finishing their potions successfully, Williamson showed them where they would be staying for the rest of the month. It was towards the back of the Auror offices, a small living space with a common room, eating area, and bedrooms located upstairs. Williamson explained that it was also used when the Aurors were particularly busy on a case and preferred to stay close to headquarters just in case anything were to happen. He told them not to be surprised if an Auror stopped by. With that, the four young men were left standing rather awkwardly towards the entrance of their new home. 

Malfoy, who wasn't looking forward to spending the month in the company of the three former Gryffindors, left immediately and disappeared into the showers. 

"Anybody hungry?" Dean said, cheerfully. He took out his wand and looked through the cabinets, inspecting whatever ingredients were there. 

"Feels a lot like being back in the Gryffindor common room doesn't it?" Harry asked, walking to the kitchen counter and taking a seat in one of the high chairs. 

"Except for a certain Death Eater in our midst, it would be," Ron said, moving to join him. 

Dean made them pasta for dinner. 

Harry took notice as he ate his last bite that Malfoy hadn't come down from the showers, hadn't eaten anything the entire day in fact. When they went upstairs, the curtains had been drawn across one of the beds. 

Harry crawled into his own sheets after having changed and showered, and drew the curtains around his own bed. Worried that he would have a nightmare while in the presence of his cohort, he placed a silencing charm around him and closed his eyes, his mind filled with thought of a certain ex-Death Eater. 

oOo 

The following day, Wednesday, after a much tiring session with Williamson, Harry and Ron walked past the Auror offices and to their rooms. They paused when someone called out to them from one of the offices. 

"Harry Potter!" 

To Harry's great surprise he recognized Oliver Wood, clad in deep red robes sitting behind a desk. 

"Oliver?" 

Oliver had been talking to Ronan, now fully healed from the curse Malfoy had thrown at him. Oliver dismissed himself from the wizard and came over to Harry and Ron with a brilliant smile. He pulled Harry into a hug that nearly brought him off of the ground. Oliver seemed to have grown another foot and a half since Harry last saw him. 

"How's my favorite seeker in the world?" He let Harry back down, who'd gotten red in the face at the attention. "Ronald Weasley! Haven't seen you or your brother in years." He shook Ron's hand. "Heard you took my spot after I left Hogwarts." 

"Yeah, sort of," Ron said, laughing. 

"What are you doing here, Oliver? You're an Auror now? What happened with Puddlemere United?" Harry asked, running a hand through his hair. 

"Retired. Just before the end of the war. I had a sort of epiphany fighting some Death Eaters and thought a change in career was required. I couldn't keep playing with good conscience while there are people out there who need protection." 

Harry nodded. "Well, I'm glad we're going to be working together. Just don't expect me to call you 'sir' or anything." 

Oliver laughed. "Only around the Minister, Harry." He ruffled Harry's hair good-naturedly. 

Just then, Malfoy walked past them, brushing Harry's arm without turning to greet them. Oliver shook his head. "I'm still wondering why the hell Thicknesse allowed a former Death Eater into our ranks. Especially when he witnessed firsthand the things that they did." 

"You mean when Thicknesse was under the Imperius?" Harry asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

Oliver nodded. He leaned closer and whispered to them, "Between you and me, there is more to his acceptance into the program than meets the eye." 

Harry's eyebrows furrowed and he glanced back to Malfoy who eventually disappeared at the turn of a corner. 

"I knew it!" Ron exclaimed in hushed tones. 

"Anyway, I've got to get back to work. Been getting some reports of Muggle attacks as of late." 

"Really? Is that something new? Has it started up again like last time?" Harry asked. 

Oliver shook his head. "Sadly, it's one of our more common occurrences throughout the year." 

"Can we help with anything?" Harry asked. 

"Nothing you can do at the moment. Just focus on getting through your trial period. I expect a great deal from both of you. We're in desperate need of highly qualified Aurors." 

After a few more minutes of exchange, Harry and Ron found out that Lee Jordan and Susan Bones were recently inducted Aurors and were currently on the field investigating the Muggle attacks. They were rejoined by Dean, and they headed back to their rooms. 

oOo 

By the fifth day, Friday, Draco was very much hoping for the start of the weekend and with it, an evening away from the Department. He was starting to get sick of the confined walls of the training room. Not to mention the constant taunts of the Ministry personnel, both Aurors and not, for his former occupation. Draco sighed and fixed the sleeves of his shirt and cloak, making sure that his wrist were covered. The last taunt died away as he turned and made his way down to the training room. He grimaced at the thought of having to spend any more time down there. He had a suspicion that the fumes were a mental health hazard. That's the only thing that could explain why he would catch Potter staring at him so intently. The fumes were getting to his little raven-haired head. 

He finally arrived, a little earlier than usual, and found Harry Potter already there, gathering ingredients from the cupboard. Harry wore a light gray button-up, the sleeves folded up to his elbows. Draco could see the smooth tanned skin on his forearms as they flexed, trying to hold about ten different ingredients in the crook of his arm. Potter still hadn't noticed Draco enter; his back was facing the entrance of the room. Draco silently made his way over to him, thinking that he would enjoy seeing a startled Potter drop all of his ingredients on the floor. He was about two feet away when Potter flipped around, ingredients and all, his right hand raised and wand pointed directly into Draco's face. Draco raised an eyebrow, his hands open in surrender. 

"What are you doing?" Potter asked, his emerald eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

Damn. In a split second's decision, Draco leaned closer to Potter slowly, and watched with interest as Potter's eyes grew wide. Draco reached out a hand behind Potter, their faces now only inches away from one another, and grabbed the first item he could reach. He backed away. 

"You forgot this," Draco said, placing a Bezoar stone atop the many jars Potter was still holding in his arm. Without waiting for Potter's response, for Draco was sure he would know that the stone had nothing to do with the Veritaserum they were brewing, Draco sidestepped away from him and began to gather his own ingredients. Draco would've smiled at that moment for successfully throwing Potter off guard, but instead he furrowed his brows, reaching a hand up to his chest where he could swear that his heart was acting strange, beating a little too quickly. He dismissed the feeling as soon as it came. The fumes were probably getting to him too. 

\-------------- 

Harry willed his legs to move. He went over to his usual spot in front of his cauldron, placing the ingredients carefully on the table. He managed to catch one of the jars that slipped from his hand, as it had been shaking a little from what had just occurred. What the hell just happened? Harry cleared his throat and refolded one of the sleeves which was threatening to unravel. Malfoy was turned away from him facing the cupboard, for which he was grateful, or he would be able to see how disoriented Harry had become. He placed his hands on the table, his confusion increasing as he thought about the last few minutes. He had heard someone come into the training room, but Harry had been too preoccupied trying not to spill his ingredients to check to see who'd walked in. After the person had failed to say anything, Harry had grown suspicious. He'd braced his arm around the jars and flipped around, only to come face to face with Malfoy. 

And then… _why_ had it affected him so much? Being so close to the other man? Unable to look away from those slate grey eyes which had been staring back at him intently, before stepping back and placing a fucking stone on top of his ingredients. 

"You okay, mate?" Ron asked, startling Harry out of his thoughts. 

"What? Yeah, fine." Harry released the hold he had on the edge of the table and moved to prepare his cauldron. 

Malfoy had moved to his own spot at the table, far away from Harry and instead of seeing the infuriating smirk that the blonde always carried, Malfoy's eyebrows were slightly furrowed as if deep in thought. 

Eventually, Dean arrived, as did Williamson. The rest of their training that day went by gratefully fast and by evening, they'd all finished their Veritaserum. It was only later, once Harry was lying in bed for the night, that he realized that they hadn't needed a bezoar stone for their potions at all. 

oOo 

Draco was weighing his options. They were allowed one free evening a week away from the Department, but he wasn't sure whether he should risk going back to his flat. Blaise was bringing home some of their old _friends_. Draco didn't consider them as such, never did in fact, even though they'd been in each other's company throughout their time at Hogwarts. They'd been united, not in friendship, but in the sense that they all upheld the same ideals and customs of blood purity. Not to mention that nearly all of them: Draco, Blaise, Theodore Nott, Adrian Pucey, Terence Higgs, and Flora and Hestia Carrow, all of them had their father's in Azkaban. He wondered whether Pansy would be there. 

She'd visit on occasion; the only person Draco really trusted among their circle of Slytherins. 

She was the only person besides his late godfather, Severus, to whom Draco had confided in during their sixth year. Draco's darkest year. He often wondered what would have become of them if they had continued to date after their fifth year. She'd confronted him after catching Draco in a compromising position with a male Ravenclaw in one of the school's storage rooms. Draco let out a breath of amusement at the memory. To his surprise, Pansy had been rather mature about the whole thing, saying that she'd had her suspicions of his preferences for a while. They continued to go out until right before the Final Battle, only to keep up appearances and to keep Draco's secret hidden. He was forever grateful to her for that. 

He was hurrying home now, not wanting to leave her with the other wizards alone for too long. She usually showed up only to talk to Draco and to see how he was doing. It warmed his heart, though he knew she got in trouble for it with her Spanish husband--a pure-blooded, important and very prominent member of the Spanish Ministry of Magic, as Pansy would often boast. 

When he entered the flat he could hear a commotion coming from the sitting room, cold laughter that echoed throughout. He could smell the wormwood, the spicy and slightly pine sent of absinthe that he knew they all favored just before an _innocent_ night out in the city. Draco cursed silently. 

"And here we welcome the one and only, Draco Lucius Malfoy, Death-Eater turned traitor, turned _Auror_ ," Adrian Pucey said in a slurred voice. He wore a sleeveless black shirt, the Dark Mark prominent on his forearm. He held a glass of clear green, almost colorless liquid in his hand. 

Draco greeted each of the wizards with the customary grab of forearms, being careful to place his hand just over the mouth of the skull, partly covering the snake that protruded from it. He kept his face free of emotion, calm, and detached, a technique he'd learned from Severus once the Dark Lord had recruited him in sixth year. After greeting Blaise the same way, he turned to the witches, nodding to the Carrow sisters and to Pansy who threw him a wink. 

"Darling, come sit next to me. I haven't seen you in ages!" Pansy said in the posh voice she'd adopted soon after their fifth year. She reached out a manicured hand and took his wrist, pulling him to sit next to her on the couch. She smelled floral, rich, and she beamed at him when he told her she looked beautiful in her silk robes. 

"So tell us, Draco," Blaise interrupted, loudly. "What's it like working with all those good-for-nothing arseholes who put your father in Azkaban? What's it like living with the blood-traitor and that piece of shit Harry Potter?" 

Draco, who'd been facing Pansy, raised his head. "What do you think it's like? You think I'm doing this for fun?" 

"So it's true then," Nott said, his mouth twisting upwards in an evil grin. "What Blaise said to us earlier? You're going to get back at them, aren't you?" 

Draco glanced at Blaise again, his face unreadable, though the man's eyes were narrowed, challenging for Draco to deny it. 

"I think it's alright then," Nott said without waiting for an answer. He looked at Draco appreciatively and drank from his own glass. "Better to keep your enemies close. That's what it is, isn't it, Draco? You're bidding you time before you avenge your father and all of our families." 

"Of course that's what he's doing. Such a sexy dangerous wizard you've become, darling," purred Pansy. She pecked him on the cheek and Draco fought back a smile, knowing this was the exact tone of voice she would use to annoy him; the voice she would use whenever one of his lovers would pass by them back in their school days. 

"Do that again, Parkinson, and I'll curse you," Blaise threatened. Pansy tensed, the smile on her face only lowering for a fraction of a second. She obeyed after a purse of her lips. Draco sat back on the couch, crossing his legs one knee over the other, and raising an arm up to drape across the top of the couch, above Pansy. Pansy leaned back also, scooting closer to Draco's side, ignoring the stares of loathing Blaise was throwing her way. 

Thankfully the topic of conversation moved away from Draco: to the Dark Lord, to their fathers, to the Muggles which they'd chased out of their homes in this building, laughing as they recalled the instant that an old Muggle woman had raised a small wooden cross at them as a shield. They'd since raised wards around the building, making it unplottable, and guarded it against any wandering Muggle on the street. 

Draco stood after a while, offering his arm to Pansy, who slipped her hand through it immediately. 

"Well, I best be off for the night, ladies," she said, bending down to kiss the Carrow sisters on the cheek. She offered a bow of her head to the wizards, a rather stiff one when she got to Blaise, and Draco led her away. 

They stepped out of the building; the night was cold as it was coming closer to the fall season. They were silent, passing Muggles on the way to a nearby park. Pansy shivered and Draco placed an arm around her, bringing her closer for warmth. They followed the pathway that led inside the park, walking just a little longer until they reached a deserted area with a bench overlooking a small lake. They sat. 

"How's he treating you, sweetie?" Pansy asked after a moment of looking out into the water. She had dropped her posh accent and was looking at him with worry clear in her dark eyes. Draco didn't want to answer but knew he would be pestered until he gave in. 

"As well as ever." 

"Like a jerk, in other words?" Pansy glared at him, though it was meant for Blaise. 

"I can take care of myself, Pansy. You shouldn't worry. 

"Well, I don't like it. I don't like it at all. Draco, why don't you leave him? I've told you this before, why don't you listen? Come live with me. I'll take care of you." 

"Live with you and your husband you mean?" Draco asked, ignoring her first question. "Do you really think he would allow such a thing? You know, I'm actually surprised he let you come visit. He rarely lets you go out of the country without him." 

"I told him I was visiting Mother," Pansy said with a shrug. 

Draco raised an eyebrow at her in amusement and shook his head. "I'm fine, Pansy. Nothing for you to worry yourself over." 

Pansy opened her mouth to protest but stopped when she caught the look on Draco's face, asking for her to drop the subject. 

"Draco…" Pansy hesitated. "Being an Auror…Why are you doing it?" 

The question was out of honest curiosity. No judgment in her voice. No assumptions. 

"I….don't really know," Draco answered truthfully. 

Pansy nodded, a look of understand coming over her face. "That's okay." 

They stared out onto the lake, the night only getting darker. Finally, Pansy stood up. 

"I'll see you soon, darling?" Pansy asked. 

"Of course," Draco responded, though he knew visits from Pansy were few and far between. He stood up and Pansy reached up on her toes, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. 

She disapparated. 

oOo 

When Draco arrived back at the flat, everyone was gone. He didn't wait for Blaise to get back. Instead, he stepped out again into the cold air, following the trail that the group had left behind. Adolescent things, childish things like destruction of property. Occasionally though, Draco would find an unlucky Muggle lying on the dark street with wounds too strange to have been made normally. 

"Obliviate," Draco muttered to the old man who'd been frozen in a body-bind moments ago. "Go home." The old man left, a look of confusion on his aged face. Draco straightened, looking around for any more signs of magic. He narrowed his eyes, feeling as though someone was watching him. He slipped his wand inconspicuously into his sleeve, though still in easy reach of his hand. 

"I don't think they'd appreciate you undoing their work," Blaise said, coming from around a corner. 

"I don't think any of this qualifies as _work_ ," Draco said smoothly. "What are you guys? Twelve? I hardly think you put any effort behind any of those hexes." 

Blaise's eyes hardened but he didn't respond. He turned away and began walking. "Let's go home, Drake. We need to talk." 

Feeling very much as though they wouldn't be doing much talking, Draco followed him home. 

oOo 

Draco arrived back at the "Auror common room" (as Draco had heard Potter refer to it before) at dawn. He slowly walked up the stairs and into one of the shower stalls, resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be sleeping much at all that day. He clenched his teeth as the hot water ran through the fresh scratches that had been made to his back. He finished and stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist. He healed his bruises, the scratches that he could see by looking over his shoulder, and the angry red spots that surrounded his neck and torso. 

\------------ 

Harry woke up at dawn, feeling his magic whirring quietly. Thankfully he'd woken up just before Sirius could fall through the veil, but he still felt a little clammy from reliving his godfather's final moments. He climbed out of bed, reining in his magic and went to relieve himself. He was still half-asleep as he opened the door to the restroom, and froze at the sight that met his eyes. 

Malfoy was standing by one of the sinks, half-naked, a towel hanging loose around his hips. There were small water droplets clinging to the pale skin of his arms and chest, and Harry couldn't help moving his eyes lower, to his finely toned abdomen. But then Harry paused, frowning at all the harsh bruises and red marks that littered Malfoy's body. He felt heat rising to his face as he realized how the marks could've gotten there. They were slowly disappearing with a wave of Malfoy's wand, leaving behind healed, light skin. 

Their eyes met. 

\------------ 

Draco's eyes widened when he looked towards the entrance of the restroom and saw Harry Potter standing at the doorway, hand clenched on the handle, staring at him with a look Draco didn't want to interpret. How long had he been standing there? How long was he going to keep standing there? The seconds stretched as he waited for Potter to make a move. Draco himself couldn't quite get his body to work either, managing only a twitch of his wand hand. 

Finally, thankfully, Draco found his voice and said, "Can I help you with anything, Potter?" 

Potter seemed to pull out of whatever trance he'd been in, and ran a hand through his hair. An annoying habit of his, as if it would do anything to tame the wild locks of black hair on top of his head. Potter then cleared his throat, reaching a hand up to his eyes in a strange movement as if to fix his glasses, and said, "Had a good night, then?" 

\------------ 

Oh, Merlin, did he really just ask that out loud? Harry mentally cursed himself, curious against his will as to how Malfoy would answer him. Probably with a hex, as his wand was conveniently in the man's hand. For a second Harry actually believed he was going to be hexed, but Draco only raised an eyebrow, a tinge of pink slowly coloring his cheeks. Harry watched, fascinated. 

\------------ 

Did he…Did Potter actually just…? For the first time in Draco's life, for the first time in front of Harry Fucking Potter, Draco felt heat rising to his face. 

oOo

_End Chapter Three_

_Sleeping With Ghost—Placebo_


	4. Strange Infatuation

_Warnings: language, mild violence_

On Sunday, the Aurors-in-Trial-Period began their crash course in Concealment and Disguise; heading off their session for this week was Ronan, the shape-shifter they had dueled on the first day at Headquarters. They were in a different Auror training room, one whose walls transformed into mirrors the second they walked in. With a wave of Ronan’s wand, more mirrors appeared around the room, fitting themselves between and around the group, creating a maze of mirrors. Harry found himself alone, but surrounded by five of his reflection. He slipped his wand into his hand. 

“During missions out on the field,” Ronan’s voice rebounded through all the mirrors. “You have to assume that everyone in your presence is an enemy. The Dark Side has eyes and ears everywhere so you have to make sure not to lose yourself, your position, for it could very well mean your life and the lives of your team members. Concealment is a very important ability and comes second-hand to all of our Aurors. 

“The spell that you will need to master by the end of the day is the Disillusionment Charm. This charm is a spell that is used to conceal yourself, or any target of your choosing.” 

The mirrors disappeared for a second, revealing Ronan as he lifted his wand, twirling it around himself with a few muttered words. Slowly Ronan began to disappear also, turning invisible. Only, Harry could make out the edge of a shoulder if he looked hard enough. Ronan wasn’t invisible, he’d only faded into the background. A chameleon taking the color of its surroundings. 

“Remember, non-verbal spell casting only. You may begin.” 

The mirrors reappeared and Harry was once again staring at himself. He raised his wand, twirled it and repeated the charm in his mind. Nothing happened. Another try and he felt something cool on the top of his head, slowly trickling down his face. The top of him began to disappear but then it stopped, and he reappeared once again. 

They did that for what seemed like hours, Ronan occasionally appearing behind them all to fix their wand movement. By lunch time Harry had disillusioned half his body, including part of his thighs. Harry was growing tired, hungry, and frustrated that such a simple spell could be so hard, but confident that he’d have it down by the end of the evening. 

By the end of the evening he had in fact mastered it. He stared into the mirror, seeing nothing but endless glass and he smirked, satisfied. 

“In a second,” Ronan’s voice said, “the mirrors will disappear and you will find yourself in an open room. Your task before you go home is to find your teammates, try to figure out their location and charm them back into their bodies. The last one standing will receive top marks for the day.” 

The mirrors disappeared, leaving behind a large open space and Harry felt his body arrange itself to the texture of the background. It seemed he was alone, but Harry knew the others must have successfully disillusioned themselves as well. His eyes narrowed, straining again to see the edge of a body, the outline of a face. He moved slowly around the room, keeping himself to the wall. How in the world was this going to work? If any of them cast as spell then that would mean their location would be compromised and revealed as well. 

There! The tiniest shimmer against the wall on the opposite side. Harry raised his wand, feeling his heart run faster in excitement. He’d have to be quick. Calling the charm into his mind, Harry send a jet of white light towards his target. Immediately, and without seeing whether he had hit his target, he threw himself to the ground, watching out of the corner of his eye as two sets of white light flew inches above his own head. He didn’t hesitate to send another spell in the direction of where the last two had come from. Harry had set a battle in motion. He crawled swiftly to another side of the room and stood, knowing that if he kept still for one second a stray spell would catch him. The moving figures were now easier to spot. Though nearly invisible, the fact that they were all running around the room throwing spells was a clear indicator of each of their locations. It didn’t make their task any easier. Thrice Harry only had time to cast his shield before flinging himself away from his position. By the fourth time, Harry managed to hit his target who’d been standing in a corner of the room. 

Dean began to appear. “Who the hell was that!” Dean yelled, as he slumped against the wall, exhausted. 

Harry allowed himself a small laugh of victory before turning his attention back to the room. It was momentarily free of flying spells and shields, a welcome break from the five minutes of running around the room for his life. Harry strained his eyes to catch another sign of life. 

\---------------- 

Draco looked away from Dean Thomas as he slowly materialized in the corner of the room. A quiet laugh came towards Draco’s right side, near the center of the east wall. He inched closer, knowing it was Potter who had let out a laugh. Big mistake, he thought mischievously. Now that he was close, Draco could make out the shimmery outline of the young man. He came up from behind, leaning close to where he imagined Potter’s ear to be. 

“You’re dead, Potter.” 

Draco smirked before casting his charm. He watched as Potter materialized in front of him, a look of shock and injustice coming across his features. But Draco only had a fraction of a second longer to enjoy his victory before a movement on the other side of the room made him cast his shield. Ronald Weasley was the only one left besides Draco, and he was throwing spell after spell in his direction. Draco moved closer to where he knew Weasley was located, knowing it would be harder to cast his shield the closer in proximity they became. Soon they were only three yards away. Draco sent a jet of white in Weasley’s direction, watching as the same charm hurled towards him. 

A cold feeling came trickling down Draco’s body and he reappeared, breathing hard and watching with bittersweet satisfaction as Weasley also materialized back into his body. 

oOo 

Harry, Ron, and Dean were sitting in the Auror common room that same night, lounging in the seats and practicing the Disillusionment charm on each other as they were asked to do by Ronan. It was simple enough, having already mastered the charm on themselves. 

“Can’t wait to tell Hermione about today,” Ron was saying, his figure disguised as the couch and wall behind him. He materialized again. “In fact, I think I’ll go try and sneak her an owl right now.” 

Harry grinned proudly as his best friend walked back out towards the Auror offices. The joy Ron was feeling for having received top marks (never mind that Malfoy had also received them) was contagious and he and Dean chatted about what the following days would bring them. Soon after, Dean dismissed himself and Harry was left alone in the common room, his mind wandering over to the voice that had whispered in his ear during their session. 

How could he have been so stupid to laugh out loud? It had given his location away and the chill that had gone down Harry’s spine at the sound of Malfoy’s voice had momentarily disarmed him. He told himself that it was from the proximity of his enemy that had given him the shivers, not the sound of Malfoy’s voice sounding oddly tantalizing, reverberating through his veins for seconds after he felt his body reappear again. 

Just then the object of his thoughts walked in, glancing in his direction only once before grabbing a mug from the kitchen table and making himself some coffee. The action seemed so commonplace, so out of Malfoy’s character (Harry had always pictured house-elves doing all the bidding for the blonde) that Harry let out a laugh before he could stop himself. Malfoy turned to him in question. 

“Yes?” 

“Nothing. Sorry,” Harry muttered, reaching a hand up to run it through his hair. 

“No, no. That was definitely a sound of amusement coming from your mouth. It’s the same carelessly idiotic sound you made earlier, giving away your location to me.” Malfoy took a deliberate sip of his coffee and Harry rolled his eyes. “Please tell me what in the world is so amusing to you today. I’d like to know.” 

Harry, not knowing how to answer, stood up and went over to him. He grabbed a mug and poured himself some of the coffee that Malfoy had made. He took a sip. 

“Not too bad, Malfoy,” he said, placing the mug back on the counter. He licked his lips. 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him, possibly affronted at Harry’s nerve. “And what were you expecting?” the blonde asked. 

“I thought it would taste like shit,” Harry answered truthfully. 

“Well then, I am so honored that my coffee has been given the approval from out great Savior.” 

“Yes, quite,” Harry said, amusement clear in his emerald eyes. He took another sip and looked away from Malfoy’s continued stare. He swallowed, almost nervous and most definitely confused at the _friendly_ banter that he and Malfoy were currently having. Strangely, Harry didn’t mind it all that much. “Better than mine anyway,” he continued. 

“Is it? Well, I’m sure anything of mine is and always will be better than yours, Potter,” Malfoy said haughtily, walking over to the lounge chair and sitting himself on it, coffee in hand. He crossed his legs, one knee over the other, reached into his pocket and lit himself a cigarette. 

Harry couldn’t help but think how amusingly proper Malfoy appeared even when he was dressed so casually in sweats and long sleeved shirt. It was the same cavalier behavior he would show back during their school days, yet it seemed so completely different, as though Malfoy were merely exaggerating his movements for Harry’s entertainment. Harry was just about to go join the blonde against his better judgment and ask when in the world he started smoking, when the door to the common room opened and Oliver Wood entered with a smile aimed in Harry’s direction. 

“Harry, care to join me for a quick fly around the pitch?” 

“What pitch?” 

“The one on level twelve. I’ll show you, come on.” 

\---------------- 

Draco scowled behind his coffee mug as he watched Wood inviting Potter to the Ministry Quidditch pitch, which Potter readily agreed to. Draco turned away pointedly when Potter gave him a look. Was he asking for permission or what? Draco exhaled some smoke, and watched as the two left the room. Just as well. It wasn’t as though he’d been looking forward to a chat with Potter or anything. 

oOo 

The following day found the four young men practicing some very delicate transfiguration spells on their own features. They were back in the mirrored room again. Harry was standing next to a very moody Ron, who kept grumbling that it was only easy for Ronan since he was already a metamorphmagus. Ron’s usually flaming-red hair was now a disgusting shade of murky green. Harry himself had only really managed to transfigure his hairline, but was please when Ronan commented on the shade of his eyes (which were now blue) as it was supposed to be rather difficult to do because of the sensitivity of the area. Ron had scowled at him. 

By the end of the week, on Saturday, they were required to attend their session in complete disguise and so Harry transformed himself into a slightly older man. He added laugh lines to his eyes and around his mouth, turned his hair a light brown in imitation of his old friend, Remus Lupin, and transfigured his glasses in such a way that they were lighter, and more rectangular in shape. 

Ron grew out his hair and made it jet-black, though he hadn’t been able to do anything about his auburn facial hair, so he shaved it off before heading to the mirrored room. 

Dean was a few shades darker in skin color, with an impressive beard and graying hair. Malfoy had nearly given Harry a heart attack when he came downstairs into the common room because, for a second, Harry believed he was looking at Severus Snape. After he’d recovered from having a lump of toast stuck in his throat at the sight, Harry realized that man was much too thin to be Severus, his hair a silkier shade of onyx. 

“Smooth, Potter,” Malfoy said, and Harry heard the amusement in his voice before the Severus look-alike glided past him in a scarily accurate impression of their old Potions Professor. 

“Not very original of you, is it?” Harry said, hurrying and sliding in step with Malfoy as they made their way to their session. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“If your nose were a little larger I’d be running off to grab my potion’s book before getting any points docked from Gryffindor.” 

“That’s just like you to be running away at the first sign of danger,” sneered Malfoy. 

“Not at all. I just meant that Severus would always dock points for no fucking reason,” Harry said, though his tone carried no anger. Malfoy seemed to have noticed, for he looked at him thoughtfully with his new obsidian eyes. 

“Severus?” Malfoy inquired at how Harry had referred to him. 

Harry shrugged, masking the small pang of grief that had entered his chest. “He was a very complex man. Just wish I would’ve realized sooner.” 

\-------------------- 

Harry Potter was a very confusing bloke, Draco concluded as they entered the mirrored room to begin their session. Of all the things that Draco imagined Potter to be when they’d begun their Auror Trial Period, a _friendly_ Potter was the last thing on his list. Self-important, annoying, proud, a _Gryffindor_ in other words, were the things he was expecting. But this man beside him, currently adjusting his new glasses (which Draco found rather fascinating), was nothing like the Potter he remembered from school. Surely by now they should have bitten each other’s heads off? Because how else would someone describe their teasing comments towards each other? And their walking together down a hall with the sole purpose of reaching their destination and not hexing each other into oblivion? Because, by now, _surely_ their peaceful truce should have ended? 

He really needed a smoke. 

\--------------------- 

They entered the room, Harry absentmindedly setting himself up next to Malfoy where he would normally have stood next to Dean or Ron. Realizing his actions when Ron shot him a look of question, Harry reddened. Thankfully Malfoy hadn’t said anything, instead allowing himself to be inspected by Ronan for any fault in his disguise. 

They finished up that Saturday evening earlier than usual since Ronan was called away on Auror business. Harry was now caught up in a fierce charm battle with Dean and Ron, elongating noses and foreheads, growing ears and hairy arms, before Harry said it was enough, his lips feeling very swollen and unnatural. Dean and Ron left and Harry walked up to one of the wall mirrors, gingerly touching his lips. He cursed their immature behavior, however fun it may have been. 

Malfoy was also by the mirror, a little further away, returning his features to normal. The dark onyx hair turned lighter and lighter until it was its usual platinum blond, hanging loosely over his face. 

“The lengths all wrong,” Harry said without thinking. Malfoy glanced at him briefly. 

“Oh?” 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek before raising his wand and lengthening Malfoy’s hair a fraction of an inch. Malfoy looked into the mirror and made a deep side-part in his hair, fussing with it a moment longer before nodding in a satisfactory way. “Looks good,” he said with a smirk at his own reflection. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Cocky bastard.” He returned his own features to normal. His hair turned back to its usual jet-black disarray, his eyes softened into a jade-green, and the wrinkles from his face slowly faded away. He raised his wand to his glasses. 

“Leave them,” he heard Malfoy say. 

“’Scuse me?” 

Malfoy seemed to hesitate for a second before he drawled, “Merlin knows those frames suit you better than the last ones did.” Then he left in a flurry of robes, leaving Harry staring at the doorway. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. Had that been a compliment? 

\------------------ 

Shit, Draco cursed as he glided out of the training room and back into the hallway. Why would he say something like that to Potter? He shook his head. It wasn’t a lie, he supposed. Those glasses did brighten Potter’s eyes, made him look a little older. A vast improvement from the round, wiry ones he’d worn for over nine years. 

Draco contemplated this for a moment longer before he froze suddenly, stopping mid-step in the middle of the hallway. 

The blood drained from his face and the most unpleasant feeling rose in the pit of his stomach. Surely he’d just imagined it? 

Draco looked down at his forearm, currently covered in his long sleeve shirt, afraid of what he would see if he uncovered it. The other Department workers passed by him, eyeing him with suspicion and wariness. Draco quickly dropped his arm back to his side, willing his heart to slow down its erratic beating. He imagined it, Draco assured himself as he forced his legs to continue their walk. The sharp pain from moments ago was only his memory playing tricks on him; an echo of what he would feel back then. Because it was impossible. Impossible that the Dark Mark, having been silent for two long years after the fall of the Dark Lord, was once again very much _alive_. 

oOo 

_End Chapter Four_

_Without You I’m Nothing--Placebo_


	5. Silver and Cold

_Author’s Warnings: language, mature content_

On their third week of trial period, Harry, Ron, Dean, and Draco left Auror Headquarters and used a portkey to relocate to an outside training location. They landed on a forest floor, in a clearing surrounded by trees. The earth was soft and wet underneath their feet, and the air was cold and biting. It was silent except for the rustling of leaves in a light breeze. 

Just then, a small envelope came out from under the strewn leaves. It floated in front of them, opening itself and forming a mouth with its folds. Robards voice resounded from the pages: 

_Welcome to your new home. You are within a DMLE protected area where you will be completing the third week of your trial period, covering the topic of Stealth and Tracking._

_Your task is simple: Stay hidden. Stay safe._

_There is only one rule you must follow. You cannot stay in one place for too long. The arena is enchanted with sensors that will alert Auror’s of your location. Staying in one spot will make it easier for us to find you. Don’t let yourselves be caught. Once you do, you will be taken back to Headquarters and receive marks mirroring your performance for the week._

_Your task is simple: Stay hidden. Stay safe…_

The letter disintegrated. Four small backpacks appeared in front of them. 

“Why does it feel like they’ve just dropped us in an arena of certain death, like mice for experimentation?” Dean asked, taking his wand out and walking forward. He opened one of the bags. “Supplies. Tent. Food rations.” He threw two of the bags to Harry and Ron, and hesitated only a fraction of a second before throwing one to Malfoy as well. 

“Come on, it’ll be best if we keep walking for now,” Harry suggested. He placed his wand in the palm of his hand and muttered a navigation spell. It pointed north. “Let’s just keep as north as possible. This way.” 

The day went by relatively undisturbed, except for a small argument that broke out between them, deciding which way to turn at a fork in the trees. They decided to vote on it, which didn’t go over too well since Harry and Malfoy voted one way and Dean and Ron voted another. In the end, they chose an entirely different route, pausing only for an early evening snack on the way. 

By twilight, the four young men stopped at a small clearing, tired and worn. Harry advised them to throw shield charms and protection wards over the immediate area, just like he and Hermione would do during their hunt for the Horcruxes. They spent a few minutes walking in a large circle until Harry was satisfied that they would be alerted for any sign of danger. 

Closer inspection through the contents of his bag, and Harry calculated that there wouldn’t be enough food rations to last until the end of the week. He was just about to voice his thoughts but he stopped, not having the heart to tell Ron to stop eating, as he was doing at the moment. Harry closed his backpack, ignoring the hunger in his stomach and threw up his tent. It was small, non-magical, room for one and a half of Harry. He slipped inside well enough and maneuvered himself so that his head was at the entrance of the tent. 

Malfoy did the same, setting up his tent and carefully slipping off his expensive cloak before folding and fitting it inside his backpack. He pulled at the bottom of his sleeves, a habit that Harry had caught on to, making him wonder whether it was because he was trying to cover the Dark Mark that lay on his arm. His curiosity lingered as Malfoy climbed inside the tent without a word or backward glance. 

\--------------------- 

Draco was in a foul mood. Sleeping on a forest floor was one of the last things he wanted to do, especially in an old smelly tent that had probably housed every single Auror-in-training before them. He slipped off his cloak and folded it neatly, trying to ignore the hole that Potter was burning into his back. He’d just been about to turn around and threaten Potter with a curse if he didn’t stop staring, when a sharp pain shot through his arm. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out and masked the jerk of his hand by pulling at the sleeves of his shirt. 

He was certain that the Dark Lord had not returned. Couldn’t have. He and countless others had borne witness to his death. He perished, his souls disintegrating into nothingness at the hands of Harry Bloody Potter. So why was this happening again? 

Maybe it was a side-effect. Or only his imagination, he thought for the hundredth time as he closed his eyes. Weariness overpowered him and he fell asleep, dreaming of a world in a war that would never end. 

oOo 

The following morning found them in a panic. Harry was startled awake at the sound of their alarms going off, a high-pitched sound piercing their ears. Harry climbed out of his tent, wand in hand and motioned for the others to keep as quiet as possible. He silenced the alarm and pointed towards one end of the clearing, a bit away, where a cloaked figure could be seen lurking, walking around with careful steps. After a few painful minutes during which they all took out their wands and pointed them at the figure, the person left in the opposite direction. They heard the crack of disapparition. 

Harry let out a breath and said, “Let’s get going.” 

They packed, cancelled their wards, and walked swiftly away from the clearing. 

“Do you think he spotted us?” Ron asked. 

“No. Our wards were enough to keep him away. He didn’t know we were there. Or rather, he knew we were there but couldn’t find us with the wards,” Harry said, hoping it was true. 

The rest of their morning was spent on the edge, jumping at the slightest sounds the forest would offer to them. They day was warm, bright sunlight baring down on them through the openings of the trees. To their relief, they found a calm river by mid-afternoon. Ron and Dean immediately shed their cloaks and shirts, submerging themselves completely into the water. Harry followed them soon after, basking in the light and fresh water, and feeling much better now that he wasn’t covered in dirt or sweat. 

Time went by pleasurably slow; they took their time swimming in the semi-shallow water and having contests to see who could stay under the longest. After one such game, Harry emerged victorious only because the other two were purposefully forcing the air out of each other’s lungs. Harry glanced over to where Malfoy’s platinum blond hair glinted in the afternoon sun. Malfoy was stooped down, examining a plant near the roots of a large tree. He was still fully clothed, not even bothering to shed his cloak. 

“Malfoy, why don’t you join in? The water’s cool,” Harry risked. Unsurprisingly, Malfoy only waved a hand over his shoulder, not bothering an answer. Curious, Harry got out of the water and walked over to inspect. “What are you doing?” 

Malfoy was uprooting one of the plants, carefully tucking the leaves into the pockets of his robes after making sure to place a protection charm over them. 

“This is dittany,” Draco answered, clipping another root and placing it with the other leaves in his pocket. “Do you know how bloody difficult and fucking expensive these are to get a hold of?” 

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t know you liked herbology.” 

Malfoy shot him a glare. “Herbology? Don’t insult me, Potter. For your information I happen to be very adept in potion-making.” He moved on to clip another handful of dittany. 

“Aren’t they practically the same thing?” Harry asked, more to get a rise out of Malfoy. 

Sure enough, Malfoy gave him another heated look. 

“No, they are not,” he said, and continued with a patience Harry thought would be more appropriate for lecturing a first-year, “there is a very clear difference between the two subjects. One is the _mundane_ study of magical and ordinary plants while the other requires a more precise skill and mental capacity that I’m sure is far beyond you, Potter. Potion-making is an art. Nothing in comparison to the study of _herbs_.” 

\----------------- 

Draco placed a final collection of dittany into his pocket, happily calculating how long the batch would last him. Probably a few good months in which he could brew some Essence and sell it for a hefty price. Draco nodded, satisfied, and looked up at Potter, whose face was twisted in amusement and something else. 

It was then that Draco realized that Potter was wearing nothing save his boxers, and even those were wet and clinging to Potter like a second skin. _Fucking hell, Potter._ Draco looked away before he was tempted to continue staring. 

“I never was much of a potion-brewer,” Potter said, reaching a hand up and wiping his hair away from his face. For once, his hair lay flat, held in place by the water that dripped from its ends. “Maybe you can teach me a thing or two.” 

A few seconds later and Draco realized he hadn’t responded, having been too distracted by the “thing or two” that Draco would certainly enjoy teaching him. He cleared his throat. “Maybe I will,” he heard himself say. 

“Great. It’s a date then,” Potter said, before realizing what he just said. “I meant to say, you know, you can teach me…whenever you get the chance…it’s not a…” 

Draco cocked an eyebrow and smirked, “It’s a date then.” 

“Harry! Come scrub my back. I can’t reach it,” Weasley called, his voice muffled over the steady stream of the river. 

Potter gave him a lopsided grin before turning and running back towards the river. Draco caught sight of the muscles of his back as they stretched and flexed; Potter threw himself back into the water and finally Draco turned away, holding back the smile that threatened his lips. 

oOo 

Harry didn’t think he could run any longer. They were all stupid for thinking it would be a good idea to set up a fire out in the open, when they could just have easily heated up their freshly caught fish with their wands. In their eagerness for food, they’d forgotten to set up the proper wards and now they were paying dearly for their mistake. What was more, Harry’s back was burning: the result of wanting to seem impressive in front of Malfoy after their conversation by the tree. He was ignoring the fact that he’d wanted to impress the man at all, but it remained that he had flung himself back into the water, only to spectacularly pull a muscle on his back in the process. 

And so now, Harry was fighting against the pain, ignoring it as best he could as he jumped several feet over a fallen log. He thanked Merlin and all other deities that his tired legs didn’t give out. The others were running beside him, in addition to the Aurors that were slowly but surely gaining up on them from behind. 

Harry raised his wand, aiming for the large opening between the trees ahead of them. He recalled the incantation in his mind, not wanting to risk the Aurors hearing which wards he was putting up, and held the magical barrier open in order for the four of them to get through. Noticing what Harry was doing, his cohort did the same, adding their own protective wards to the mix. 

“No! GET THEM.” 

A stray binding spell hit the spot towards the left of Harry, spraying dirt and leaves in all directions. He jumped over another log; the air in his lungs were burning by now. Only a few more yards left. He felt the hot ray of another spell stinging his cheek as it missed him narrowly by a few centimeters, splitting open the branches of a tree beside him. Another step and Harry let go of the wards that he was holding open. The four young men fell through, collapsing on the ground. Harry watched with relief as the Aurors yelled in frustration, unable to get through their wards. Harry let his head fall back on the ground, breathing hard and staring up at the darkening sky. For minutes, his vision wavered with exhaustion and they remained silent but for the sound of their heavy breathing. 

“That…was close.” 

The Aurors disapparated eventually, and they were left alone. 

oOo 

By Thursday, things had taken a turn for the worst. The four young wizards were exhausted, and Harry was certain that another ambush like the one the previous day would leave them in a very vulnerable position. But the Aurors were not relenting. Barely had the sun risen when the alarm went off around them, signaling intruders. 

“We’re dead…” Dean breathed. 

Just outside of their wards were the Aurors, twice as many as the previous day. They surrounded them in a wide circle, their wands raised, slowly dismantling their wards. 

“No time to pack,” Malfoy said, shrugging on his cloak and taking out his wand. “Make a formation up here. There is a wider gap here between these two Aurors. We can break through them easily.” 

They obeyed immediately, their wands clutched in their hands. 

“We’re at an advantage right now—” 

“You call this an advantage?” 

“—they won’t know our location. We can easily take out half the group in the first second. Weasley, Thomas, fix yourselves in front of Robards and Ronan. Be prepared to stun and run. Potter and I will be your cover. Potter, how’s your shield?” 

“Good enough to cover our backs.” 

“Good. We won’t wait until they’ve dismantled the wards. We’ll put them down ourselves,” said Malfoy. The others nodded in understanding. “On three. One…” 

“Two…” said Harry. 

“Three!” 

The wards fell and they sent stunning spells towards the group. Four Aurors fell to the floor. Another two flew backwards towards the trees, victims of Ron’s blasting curse. Their victory was short lived; the Aurors were quick to regroup and retaliated with just as much force. They started to run once again, dodging behind the trees in order to avoid flying curses. Dean tripped over the roots of a tree and was secured swiftly. An Auror grabbed him by the arm, and they disapparated. Dean was gone. 

They kept running and Harry figured he could set up the wards again in front of him, as he had done the previous night, but the Aurors were ready for that. A strangled cry made Harry stop and turn around. Ron was being dragged across the forest floor, past the wards, an invisible force pulling him into the midst of the Aurors. 

“No, no, no, Ron!” Harry threw himself forward as a last ditch effort to try and grab onto Ron’s outstretched hand. But then Ron’s body passed the reach of the wards and he vanished along with Dean. There were several pops of disapparition. “Damn them.” Harry hit the ground with his fist, more out of exhaustion than from frustration. After a moment he joined Malfoy and set up the wards that Ron and Dean usually erected. 

oOo 

“Are you cold?” 

Harry lifted his head from his arms where he had been dozing off against the base of a tree. He’d considered letting himself be caught, feeling envious as he picture Ron and Dean enjoying the warmth of the Auror common room, as opposed to the frigid night air that he and Malfoy were currently facing. 

“Are you cold?” Malfoy repeated. 

“A bit. Warming charms only really work if you’re awake,” Harry responded, casting a silent warming charm on his hands and feet. He fixed himself in a more comfortable position. They’d lost their supplies that morning during the ambush and were now forced to sleep out in the open. 

A heavy cloak fell on Harry’s lap. He looked up in question, but Malfoy had turned away from him. 

“I didn’t know you cared,” Harry said, grinning. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Malfoy said. “Just don’t want the Savior’s cold lifeless body on my hands once we get out of here.” 

Harry let out a small laugh and wrapped the cloak around himself. There was a pleasant warmth lingering from Malfoy’s body heat and Harry shivered as it transferred over to his chilled limbs. He caught the scent of cigarettes, amber, and fresh cologne and he stopped himself before acting on the impulse of wanting to sniff the collar. 

“Thanks,” Harry said belatedly. 

Malfoy only made a sound of ascent. 

“…won’t you be cold?” Harry asked. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“You sure?” 

“Positive. If I get cold I’ll have it back.” 

“We can just share it.” 

“Cuddle?” Malfoy asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

“Snuggle.” 

Malfoy laughed. “Keep it for Merlin’s sake. Don’t make it weird,” he said. 

Harry wrapped the cloak tighter around him. Their gazes met. Malfoy’s silver eyes lingered for a second before they turned away from him again. 

“When did you start smoking?” Harry asked, wanting to grab his attention again. 

“Hmm. About two years ago.” 

“Why? I thought you hated anything to do with Muggles.” 

“I do. I did. At one point.” 

“And now?” 

It was a while before Malfoy answered. “People change, I suppose.” 

“You’ve changed.” Harry meant it to come out as a question. The end result was that it came out sounding more like a statement. 

“Have I?” Their eyes met once more and Malfoy didn’t look away. 

It occurred to Harry then that this was the first real conversation that he was having with Draco Malfoy. It made him feel peculiar—content. As though they hadn’t always been sworn enemies. The past became a distant memory for him, and Harry felt it easy to dismiss the harsh relationship that they’d once been in. 

“Yeah. You have.” 

Malfoy nodded thoughtfully and they both fell into an unfamiliar yet peaceful silence. 

oOo 

Draco couldn’t ignore it any longer. His Dark Mark was burning constantly now. Maybe not as it once had when the Dark Lord would call his followers, but it was there nonetheless. And it made Draco afraid, though he would never admit to it, because he didn’t know how to interpret it. He couldn’t just ignore the pain anymore. He left the comfort of the Auror common room, which he and Potter had arrived at a few hours prior, and made his way down to the exit area of the Ministry. 

He apparated just outside his London flat. The night was cold, another summer storm was brewing in the distance. He lifted his hand to the door handle of his flat and paused. He could hear voices from inside. Blaise was arguing with someone. Draco moved his ear closer to the door. 

“What the hell do you mean your father contacted you? How is that even possible?” Blaise was saying. 

“It’s possible. They’re breaking out again,” Theodore Nott hissed, the panic evident in his voice. “We’ll need to act fast. Gather everyone so we can find a safe house. Maybe one of the Carrow manors.” 

Draco paled. Breaking out? But that’s ridiculous; the security in Azkaban has increased tenfold after the admission of the new Minister. 

“When do you reckon it’ll happen? Did he tell you that?” 

“Only that it will be by the year’s closing.” 

There was silence and Draco leaned closer. 

“We’ll meet up soon. Now leave. I need time to think.” 

Draco cast a disillusionment charm on himself and moved aside. The door was opened and Theodore walked past, his footsteps dying away. Draco waited another minute before cancelling the charm and heading inside. 

“Drake. About fucking time.” 

“Your mark?” 

“It’s burning, too. Everyone’s is.” 

Draco’s heart sank. He’d been hoping it wasn’t true. 

“Why?” 

“I wouldn’t know, would I?” Blaise snapped. 

Draco sighed and sat down on the couch. Not for the first time he wished he had someone he could confide in. Someone like Severus. Severus had always know the answers to complicated questions. If only he were here…Draco stood up abruptly. He was here. Maybe not in person, but he _could_ talk to Severus. He was at Hogwarts, in the Headmistress’ office as a portrait. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He made his way to the front door but was stopped when Blaise gripped his arm. 

“Leaving so soon?” 

“I’ve to be at Headquarters soon,” Draco replied, pulling away. 

“Stay for a minute, will you?” 

Draco didn’t want to stay. He wanted to be back in the common room to think. There were simply too many things running through his head and the last thing he needed was for Blaise to become temperamental and needy. If he went back now maybe Potter would be awake to discuss that possible potion-brewing lesson that they’d mentioned. Maybe he’d be able to get his mind away from the burning of his mark instead of having a constant walking reminder of it in front of him. Blaise closed the distance between them, not having let go of Draco’s arm. Their lips met briefly and Draco was pulling away again, but he didn’t get the chance to move far because Blaise had pulled him against his chest, trapping Draco in his arms. Conceding, Draco leaned in for another kiss, closing his eyes before a stray image of a very wet, nearly naked Potter swam into his mind and he gasped, pushing Blaise away roughly. He ignored the slighted look on Blaise’s face and said, “I’m leaving.” He opened the front door and strode away, wiping his mouth as he went. 

oOo 

_End Chapter Five_

_Silver and Cold—A.F.I._


	6. Ask for Answers

_Warnings: language, mild violence_

_1996/97_  


_“My Lord?” Lucius Malfoy inquired, his voice coming out strong and smooth. In reality though, Lucius was beginning to panic, his chest filling with dread and he hoped that he hadn’t heard correctly.  
_

_“Must I always repeat myself to you, Lucius?” the Dark Lord’s voice came out as a natural hiss. He sat upon his throne, at the front of a long, elegant cherry wood dining table. His thin, white fingers curled around Nagini, caressing the creature as it nestled at its Master’s feet. “Your good for nothing son will pay for his mistakes. He has failed me not once, Lucius, not twice, but three times. And still the old fool Dumbledore remains alive. I’m beginning to think that his heart is not in it at all. If he can’t accomplish his task in the time that I require of it, then he is of no use to me. Perhaps Nagini will find him more appealing.” As if in ascent, Nagini hissed threateningly.  
_

_Lucius’ stomach dropped to the floor._ Not, not my son. _“My Lord, please understand,” he said, falling to his knees. “He is only a foolish child. Forgive me. I will do it myself. I assure you that I shall not fail in this task.”  
_

_“Give me one reason, Lucius,” the Dark Lord said, ignoring the words of the servant at his feet, “to keep your son alive.”  
_

_“I’ll do anything,” Lucius said at once, bowing his head, platinum hair falling over his face. “Anything.”  
_

oOo  


“Malfoy, at the ready.”  


The first shot came quick, at lighting speed, aimed right for Draco’s head. He swayed as he caught the spell with his shield. A fraction of a second later and Draco would have been sprawled across the ground. Another stunning spell followed the first, which left no room for him to regain his balance. But Draco persisted with just as much force.  


They’d begun the Combat and Dueling portion of their trial period two days prior. Their Auror mentors this week were Proudfoot and Savage, a deathly pair of brothers who were genius in dueling and fighting tactics.  


The training room was once again transformed into a large arena; it was reconstructed to mimic a rough terrain, almost mountainous with boulders littered throughout. Wooden test dummies were strewn in pieces on the ground, always putting themselves back together in an instant after they’d been blown apart from their spells.  


“Come now, Malfoy, don’t be a fucking pussy! Throw me a shot. I dare you,” Savage drawled with a smirk. Draco, his platinum blond hair slick with sweat, scowled deeply before sending a binding curse in the older man’s direction.  


Only a few yards away, Harry was at arms with Proudfoot, the calmer of the brothers, and by the feel of it, they were both at equal match. Harry’s face was set, his bright green eyes burning with fierce concentration as he fought to gain the upper hand.  


“Damn,” Harry cursed as his wand flew out of his hand and into Proudfoot’s outstretched one. Harry bent and placed his hands on his knees to catch his breath. This was by far his most favorite part of the trial period. Combat and dueling both came naturally to him. It’s what his body was accustomed to after having lived through the final years of Voldemort’s rise to power. He straightened as Proudfoot came over and clapped him on the shoulder.  


“You’re doing great, Potter,” Proudfoot said to him, handing him back his wand.  


Harry smiled in reply. He had taken a great liking to Proudfoot. If Harry was being honest, the man reminded him a lot of Sirius. Same shaggy dark brown hair, deep voice, and a smile readily available for whenever Harry spoke to him.  


“Can we do that one more time?” Harry asked, hopeful. He was tired already, but not exhausted enough. He found it much easier to sleep that way, when his body was fatigued and when his mind had no room to think except for the variety of spells and curses that they were meant to memorize.  


Proudfoot grinned. “Not satisfied yet, are you? Alright. I won’t go easy on you this time.”  


“I never asked you to,” Harry replied, lifting his wand.  


oOo  


Harry was standing at the edge of the arena, nursing a deep wound on his thigh. Proudfoot had finally told Harry that he shouldn’t overwork himself: too much exertion and he’d burn out before the trial period was even over.  


Harry pursed his lips, and glanced over to the other side of the field where Malfoy was still caught in a fierce battle with Savage. It was impressive, really, the way Malfoy’s piercing silver gaze held so much concentration, never losing sight of his opponent. His movements were swift, calculating, and all the while elegant, as though he’d done this for years. Harry felt his gaze lingering for longer than usual, before pulling himself away at the sound of Proudfoot’s voice:  


“Potter! What did I say about getting that looked at? See Katherine in the infirmary.”  


“Yes, sir,” Harry said, and with one final glance at Malfoy, he headed off back towards main Headquarters.  


“Do you happen to have any more Dreamless, Katherine?” Harry asked the witch as she tended to his wound.  


“Again, Harry? You know how addictive Dreamless can be,” Katherine started.  


“I know. I know that. It’s only for emergencies. I get really bad headaches from time to time,” he half-lied.  


Katherine looked him over carefully and said, “Well, if you must. It’ll be in the lab where you found it last time.”  


Malfoy entered the infirmary in that moment, flushed from the day’s training.  


“Oh, Draco, honey, are you going to be using the lab again?” Katherine switched her attention over to the blonde.  


“Yes, if that’s alright with you, Miss Katherine.”  


“Of course it is. But shouldn’t you be resting? Can’t tell you how many times A.T.s come to see me suffering from exhaustion and mental strains—”  


“I’ve just a few things to attend to. I’m fine, really.” Malfoy gave her a brief smile before disappearing behind the door to the lab at the far end of the infirmary. Harry found it alarming that the smile Malfoy had given, however brief it had been, was nothing short of charming, and he quickly squashed the other, rather envious feeling at the fact that the smile had been directed to the (young) woman beside him and not at Harry, who, for all the perfect sense that it made, did not like to be ignored. Inner turmoil going unnoticed, Katherine now seemed very flustered as she was now pressing her hand painfully into Harry’s wound.  


“Miss Katherine?” Harry quietly inquired.  


Katherine took notice of him once more. “Oh, yes, dear?” She began the quick process of applying salve on his thigh.  


“What’s he up to in there?”  


“Draco? He’s taken to restocking all the healing salves and potions for the infirmary. Usually it’s Auror Williamson who brews them, but it seems he’ll be away at the moment on Auror business and he asked Draco to take over. He’s great at potion brewing. I’m certain he’ll surpass even Auror Williamson in his abilities in a few years. He’s brewing Essence of Dittany at the moment,” Katherine answered, a little breathless after her extended explanation.  


“You’re not afraid he’ll turn it into poison instead?” Harry joked. It must’ve passed straight over Katherine’s head, because she now looked affronted.  


“Poison?” Katherine asked. “Why would Draco…he would never…you of all people—and you shouldn’t think that way of your own partner, Mr. Potter.” She waved her wand and healed the light scar that had formed on his thigh. The movement stung his skin. “Now that you’re all done here, I suggest you get back to you rooms.” She disappeared behind her office door.  


Hoping that Katherine wasn’t too angry with him, Harry fixed his trousers on and walked instead towards the door to the lab. He opened it, instantly catching the heavy scent of dittany—a floral and slightly sweet, acidic smell that invaded his nostrils.  


Malfoy stood over by the table, head bent over a golden cauldron. His sleeves were rolled up and he was concentrating on pouring a few drops from a vial into the brew. He glanced up only a fraction of a second but made no other ascent to recognize Harry’s presence. After a few more drops, Malfoy placed the vial on the table and promptly unfolded the sleeves of his shirt, pulling them back down and buttoning them at the wrists.  


Harry suddenly felt as though he’d intruded into Malfoy’s space, and he reached up to ruffle the hair at the back of his head. To fill the awkward silence in the room, Harry walked around, taking his time inspecting different vials and bottles, though he knew exactly where to find the Dreamless Sleep he was looking for. After having looked through every shelf in the small room, he inevitably ended up in front of Malfoy again, who’d gone back to consulting his cauldron.  


“Essence of Dittany?” Harry asked to break the silence.  


“Quite the opposite, actually. It’s poison. Planning on killing the entire staff once I’m done with it,” Malfoy responded brusquely.  


Harry bit his lip. “You heard that, did you?”  


“Not that hard when the lab and office are enchanted to listen in on the main room. Makes it easier for Miss Katherine to know when someone needs attention.”  


“You know, I didn’t mean—”  


“What you mean. What you think. It means very little to me, Potter. Save your breath.”  


\------------------------ 

It really didn’t mean anything to Draco. For all he cared, Potter and his unruly head of hair could believe all he wanted. Whether that meant that Potter still believed him a Death Eater along with all the other dim-witted Department personnel, it was all the better for when he proved them all wrong. Not that he need anyone’s approval, least of all Potter’s. After all, they were sworn enemies. Spending a few nights alone in a dark forest wasn’t going to change anything between them. And fuck, why was Potter still standing there?  


\------------------------ 

Harry tried to say something. To defend himself. To correct this misunderstanding, but the words wouldn’t come. What was the point anyway? He didn’t need to explain himself. It’s not like the pair were friends or anything. A few nights alone in a dark forest did not constitute friendship.  


And so Harry did as any non-friend would do, and left without saying a word.  


oOo  


By mid-week they had graduated from using test dummies for their training. Other Auror’s were coming in for a practice duel with the four of them and even some of the Aurors-in-Training third years stopped by for a collaborative defense lesson.  


“Harry, you’ve got your footing all wrong,” Oliver Wood was explaining to him on Thursday evening. They’d been practicing their shields for the majority of the day, strengthening and enlarging their shield’s reach. “Here. If you stand this way your shield won’t withstand anything. But like this,” and Oliver maneuvered Harry’s legs to a slightly wider stance, “you can add more structure to it; make it more indestructible. Try it again Ron.”  


Ron aimed his Expulso curse at Harry for the fifth time. Harry, his back already throbbing from having been blasted off his feet and into the wall so many times, caught the curse with his shield. The impact shot pain up through his arms and across his shoulders; his hands shook but his shield held for a few seconds longer before finally dissipating. He let out a shuddering breath, the relief he’d felt for having succeeded disappeared, overpowered by the wave of exhaustion that washed over him. He’d stretched himself thin, knowing he was going way past the limits of his abilities that day. But he’d had a bad night the day before, so he was hoping to wear out his body.  


“Great job, Harry,” Oliver beamed at him. “With time and practice your shield will get stronger and will be able to withstand even one of Savage’s blasting curses, I promise. You have a go now, Ronald.”  


They switched positions, Harry wringing out his arms to try and rid himself of the pain and the weariness in his limbs. He raised his wand and called the curse to the forefront of his mind, but only a spark ignited at the tip of his wand. Embarrassed, Harry tried again and nothing happened.  


“Well, go on,” Ron said.  


“Concentrate, Harry,” Oliver told him.  


Harry closed his eyes, aware that there were more than two pairs of eyes on him and called his magic forward from somewhere inside where it felt almost tangible. His arm tingled and he called the curse once more in his mind. The spell shot out, and Ron, who raised his shield at the last second, was thrown back by the sheer force. He landed hard on the ground.  


\----------------------- 

Draco held back a satisfied smirk as he watched Weasley sprawled across the ground. For a second, Draco had thought that Potter wouldn’t be able to do it. If the incident from moments ago was anything to go by, Potter still had some uncontrolled magic welled up inside of him. How much uncontrolled magic, he didn’t know. As everyone’s attention seemed to be on Weasley, who was cursing like a weakling, only Draco noticed the way that Potter swayed dangerously. Thinking he was about to topple over, Draco reached out instinctively, but Potter caught himself. He saw Draco’s outstretched hand and frowned in confusion. Draco pulled back his hand immediately and cleared his throat, thanking Merlin that Wood chose that moment to dismiss them all for the day. He exited the arena, hoping that his cloak was billowing majestically behind him.  


oOo  


Later that night, Draco was alone in the Auror common room. The others had thankfully gone up to bed, leaving Draco to fill the room in smoke as he worked through a pack of Camel’s. His eyes were almost unblinking as he sat in the armchair that faced the high window. The moon had risen high by now; it must be past midnight. An occasional owl would pass, but none stopped at his window with a letter Draco though he should’ve received by now.  


Nearly a week had passed since he’d sent a letter to McGonagall requesting an audience with the Hogwarts portraits. He’d figured he should tell the truth about wanting to speak with Severus, as opposed to lying and having to lie whenever he wanted to speak with his godfather. Perhaps she thought that Draco had ulterior motives? He sighed. Most likely she didn’t want an ex-Death Eater roaming around the precious Hogwarts grounds. He huffed, sending a puff of smoke in the shape of a snitch up into the air, where it dissipated. He stayed in the common room for another hour, before throwing his empty carton into the fireplace and heading up the stairs and into their bedrooms.  


Draco paused midway to his bed. A glow had caught his attention, emanating softly around the curtains that shielded Potter’s bed from the others. Curious, Draco moved closer, intending to reveal Potter and some magical night lights floating around. Draco’s mother had once told him that she use to conjure them for Draco when he was little because he’d been afraid of the dark. Draco had denied the fact vehemently.  


He reached out a hand and drew the curtain away. He took in a sharp breath. There were no night lights. Only Potter, lying in bed with his face frowning deeply in distress. One of his hands was by his left ear, clutching the fabric of his pillow while the other hand rested in a tight fist on his stomach. His blanket had been pooled at his feet. His hair was wet with perspiration, lying in disarray and sticking to his face.  


What had caused Draco to breathe in sharply wasn’t this, or the fact that Potter slept shirtless, with his pants lying dangerously below his waist line, although under any other circumstances Draco would have paused to wonder at the tanned skin. What alarmed Draco was the magic that was whirling around Potter’s body, erratic and powerful. He’d never seen anything like it; Potter’s magic was an electric red, fading in color and returning to its original vibrancy a second later.  


The hand that wasn’t holding the curtain open slowly extended towards Potter, hovering an inch away from one of the magical threads. A sudden urge to touch overcame Draco, for the power that surrounded him; he _needed_ to know what it felt like. He reached out further. He knew he was being reckless. Potter’s magic could suddenly turn violent, protective of its host, and eradicate Draco in an instant. Or even worse, Potter would wake up and find Draco with his hand once again reaching out to him.  


Draco’s finger still hovered over one of the vibrant red threads, watching as it withdrew from him before coming closer and withdrawing again. It was like a frightened being, curious, testing the waters before finally deeming Draco’s hand unthreatening. Then it made contact with the very tip of Draco’s middle finger and a jolt went through his limbs. It stunned him, painful and exhilarating at the same time and for a second Draco thought he was going to die, overcome as he was with feeling Potter’s magic surging through him. He gasped at the sheer power of it, and managed to pull his hand away. He was left gasping.  


The tendril of magic waved in the air now, innocent and small, before returning back to join the rest of Potter’s magical essence. Draco was shaking slightly from the encounter. Potter had turned his head towards him, still sound asleep, his brow furrowed and his mouth opening to form incoherent words. Draco stilled, hoping dearly that Potter hadn’t felt anything with the touch. Perhaps Potter was still stuck in his dreams, or nightmares. Eventually Potter’s magic seemed to calm, quietly lowering back into the man’s body, leaving his skin glowing before the darkness of the room reached him. Draco dismissed the thought of waking him, and though he wanted nothing more than to continue observing Potter, he let the curtain fall, obscuring the raven-haired and his sleeping form.  


As Draco turned away, something caught his eye. A vial rested on Potter’s bedside table and he picked it up. There was no label on it, but after a careful sniff Draco recognized it as Dreamless Sleep. Seemed as though Potter had run out of it before tonight. Frowning and thinking that he’d learned more from Potter in one night than he had in all the years that they’ve known each other, Draco set the vial down and finally made his way back to his own bed. He took off his clothes and slipped into his sleepwear.  


There was no use trying to figure out the reasons behind Potter’s uncontrolled magic. It could be anything, really… Draco climbed into bed. A trigger of some sort that had awakened it…He summoned a small bottle of healing salve. Maybe Potter’s dreams have something to do with it. Like a connection between them…Draco spread a liberal amount of salve on his forearm, over his Dark Mark, absentmindedly massaging it into his skin. He placed the salve on the bedside table and drew his covers over him. It’s not like Draco would be able to do anything to help Potter anyway. Potter had plenty of adoring little Gryffindor friends that would be able to help him. Granger would be able to figure it out…Draco yawned.  


Besides, there were more important things for Draco to consider. Like his visit to Hogwarts and what exactly he would be saying to Severus. Whether Severus would take it seriously that their fathers were planning on breaking out of Azkaban. Would Severus urge him to reveal it to one of the Aurors? They would assume Draco was in on it. Draco closed his eyes. Maybe he’ll just think of these things when the time came. Tomorrow he’ll wake early and head to the labs. The infirmary was out of Dreamless Sleep.  


Draco’s breathing evened out and he slept, his limbs still tingling in the aftershock of Harry’s magic.  


oOo  


Harry Potter woke the next morning with a massive headache. His head throbbed, and his brain felt like it had taken a beating throughout the night. He touched his head tentatively and realized it wasn’t the only thing that was bothering him. He felt sensitive. Everywhere. His magic had risen to the surface again, almost invisible, but it had seeped through his skin, settling on the surface of his limbs. It felt stranger today. And a small part of his magic felt almost foreign to him. Unknown.  


Not having the strength to explore this new development, Harry sat up with difficulty and reached out to move the curtains away from his bed. He froze. He’d forgotten to place the wards the previous night before falling asleep. Harry looked around. Thankfully the room was empty. Maybe no one had noticed. Only two more days and he’d finally get to return home. He’ll have a talk with Hermione and see if she’d be able to help him. She would know what was wrong with him.  


With that reassurance, Harry got out of bed to get ready.  


oOo  


Saturday evening signaled the end of their month-long trial period. The four of them stood before their Auror mentors, debriefing their scores and talking about the next step in the program. Harry nodded as Proudfoot spoke to him, glancing down at the sheet of paper which held his scores for the month as well as the training schedule that would begin the following week:  


_Monday: Poisons and Antidotes, Williamson  
_

_Tuesday: Concealment and Disguise, Ronan  
_

_Wednesday: Stealth and Tracking (indoors), Robards  
_

_Thursday: Stealth and Tracking (field training), Proudfoot  
_

_Friday: Combat and Dueling (offense), Savage  
_

_Saturday: Combat and Dueling (defense), Wood  
_

_Sunday: Rest Day  
_

“So take advantage of your week off, A.T.’s. You won’t be getting much of a break for the next three years,” Robards told them with a twisted smile.  


“Fuck me,” Ron breathed beside him.  


“I’d rather not,” Harry said as the Auror’s left the room.  


“You coming over on Tuesday, right?” Ron asked him. “We’re having Hermione’s birthday dinner.”  


Harry could see the anxiety creeping over Ron’s face. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Have you asked her parents already?”  


“Yeah, spoke to them about two weeks ago. They’re happy. We’re finally getting married.”  


“That’s great, Ron.”  


\----------------------- 

Draco couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in amusement. So the blood-traitor and the Granger girl were getting married? What a perfectly sickening match. Draco started for the door at the same time that Potter and Weasley did. He tried to inconspicuously pick up his pace, but then so did Potter. Draco slowed down and the idiot slowed down too. The end result was that they reached the door at the exact same time and, neither wanting to give way to the other, awkwardly bumped shoulders before they could pass through.  


\----------------------- 

Harry visibly winced. He had to hold back the sudden upsurge of his magic, which fought to break free from him at the sudden contact. He backed away, both alarmed and confused at the feeling. Malfoy’s pale gaze met his in equal perplexity before the blonde turned away and walked out of the door.  


“Git needs to watch where he’s going,” Ron scowled.  


Harry didn’t respond, busy as he was concealing his internal struggle.  


\----------------------- 

This was getting out of control. For what seemed like the millionth time as of late, Draco veered himself away from the man that had occupied his mind for a month. He had to stop the madness. There was _nothing_ between them could prove fruitful. And the magic that Draco had felt just now emanating from the other man? It was only Draco’s mind playing tricks on him. Nothing more.  


_Nothing more…_  


oOo  


_End Chapter Six  
_

_Ask for Answers—Placebo_


	7. Nobody, Not Even the Rain

Warning's: language, mild violence, m/m mature content, non-con

_1998_

_When Lucius entered the main dining room of his home, it was with an air of controlled anger. Anger because he was tired of seeing the once majestic grandeur of the manor, the Malfoy Manor, dwindle down to nothing more than a dark hell of a place. The walls of the room, once pristine and white, were now dull and filthy. The high windows which were normally open, allowing a grand view of the Japanese garden Lucius had commissioned, were shut. The only light in the room came from the crystal chandelier; but it was dim. His home was no longer a place for Narcissa's famous high-society gatherings. It had become the headquarters of the ever-present Dark Lord. Lucius supposed he should be proud--honored that such an esteemed guest had chosen to use his home._

_But Lucius' reverence towards the Dark Lord had long since soured. He was very tired, and very frightened._

_Just this morning they'd received news of the break-in at Gringotts. The Potter boy and his friends had broken out of the bank with nothing less than a_ dragon _and the reaction of the Dark Lord had not been a pleasant one. Not one witch or wizard who had stood near him had survived the sheer fury that had emanated from him. Maybe the Dark Lord could feel that the end was nearing. Whose end that would be, Lucius had yet to find out._

_He walked past one end of the long mahogany dining table._

_The Dark Lord was once again seated upon his throne at the other end. His precious Nagini was now enclosed in a magical bubble, and it slithered around in agitated circles. Much better for Lucius since he didn't have to keep an eye on it any longer._

_Another person sat towards the middle of the table. A wizard. But Lucius kept his eyes forward, not focusing on anything in particular, but aware, nonetheless, of his surroundings. Lucius thought he recognized the side-profile of the wizard seated unconscious at the table. Draco had mentioned him: one of the newer recruits. A younger man. A Stan Something-or-other._

_"My Lord, you required my presence?" Lucius said quietly as soon as he was close. He bent down on one knee, the customary greeting, and bowed his head._

_"Lucius, my loyal servant," said the Dark Lord. "Yes, I did request for you to come."_

_Lucius could detect the smallest change in his master's voice. Lower. Deathlier._

_"I require your assistance," the Dark Lord continued. "You have a debt that needs to be fulfilled."_

_Lucius did not allow himself to frown. His hair covered his paling features. He did not answer. Seeing as how he'd not been told to stand, Lucius remained on his knee. He didn't have to wait long before the Dark Lord spoke again._

_"I seem to recall a time when you decided that your son would be more useful to you alive, Lucius--"_

_Lucius felt dread wash over him. He looked up, regretted it, and quickly bowed his head again. "Dumbledore is dead like you wanted, my Lord." He deemed it prudent to remind him, since it had been Draco's task to get rid of the senile old man._

_"Do not interrupt me," the Dark Lord hissed. "Yes, Dumbledore is dead but it was not at the hands of your son. It was Severus who ultimately defeated him." The grand room went silent again and Lucius could imagine the Dark Lord deep in thought, his long-fingered hands stroking the Elder Wand. "It is time you repay your debt to me, Lucius. For keeping your son alive and well."_

_Despite the warning he'd given, Lucius spoke not without fear, "What would you have me do?"_

_"Something that will guarantee my future, Lucius. Something," and the Dark Lord stood up at this point, "that will guarantee the success of my mission. One way or another, Harry Potter will be mine. Do you recall, Lucius," Lucius shivered at the sound of his name being said so many times, "Years ago I asked something of you. I asked for you to keep one of my precious possessions safe. A journal that belonged to me?"_

_Lucius remembered. It was a tattered old black journal with blank pages inside but Lucius still remembered the ominous feeling that the journal put him in whenever it was around. The Dark Magic that he'd felt emanating from the book had been powerful. Wanting to rid himself of it, he'd slipped it towards one of Arthur Weasley's runts. The Weasley girl. How much pleasure he'd received when the book had turned on the girl and how disappointed Lucius had been when Harry Potter had saved her. He glanced up at the Dark Lord. Draco had told him then that there were rumors that the Dark Lord himself had returned, materializing out of the journal itself. Lucius had been skeptical about the whole thing, but now, after witnessing all that the Dark Lord was capable of, he'd believe anything._

_"I have placed items precious to me, such as the journal, in safe places, but it seems Harry Potter has started hunting them. He knows of my Horcruxes." The Dark Lord's eyes were now merely slits. "But he will not know of this one."_

_Lucius recognized the word. So the journal had been one of the Dark Lords' Horcruxes? It was the darkest kind of magic, requiring the castor to kill before splitting his soul in half and admitting it into the object of the castors choosing. Lucius glanced around the room at this point, looking for another journal like the one he'd kept safe long ago. He didn't see one. He wondered if maybe it would be another object, but he didn't think any of the items in Lucius' home would be deemed precious by the Dark Lord._

_The Dark Lord continued, "This time, I will succeed." He walked over to the man still sitting unconscious in his seat. Lucius stood. Nagini floated ominously above him. "This time, even the great savior, Harry Potter, will be defeated." The Dark Lord began to mutter words, an incantation in Latin that Lucius could not entirely understand; he then directed the Elder Wand at the unconscious man, who'd started to stir._

_Lucius could feel the Dark Magic slowly filling the room, pressing in on his chest before he began to panic, wondering and trying to figure out why the Dark Lord needed him there when it was obvious that the unconscious man would not live past the next minute. There was an incredible flash of green and Lucius heard the thump of the young man hitting the ground. Fear clouded Lucius mind and body; his heart was running erratically in his chest. The Dark Lord now aimed his wand directly at Lucius. He could feel his insides burning and vaguely he wondered if that was his fear or if the Dark Lord was killing him from the inside. The next second Lucius was on the floor again, pain leaving him paralyzed as the world dissolved around him, all except for the voice of the Dark Lord and the magic that was slowly turning him into one of His Horcruxes._

oOo

During sixth year at Hogwarts, Draco had effectively mastered the art of lucid dreaming. Severus had once warned him that the Dark Lord had ways of getting into your mind and influencing it, planting false information through dreams. He had trained Draco, taught him ways to detect false dreams and memories. So Draco knew that he was dreaming at this exact moment when he glanced down at his left forearm and noticed that the Dark Mark was no longer present there. No traces of it left behind. This small fact brought him no comfort, however, since his dreams usually consisted of his mother and her last moments alive. He hadn't been with her then, so the dreams provided as much evidence as the evidence that the Ministry had gathered saying that it had all been a suicide. 

So it surprised him, as he walked through his old Manor, that his mother was nowhere in sight. The manor itself was a bit of a surprise--most of his dreams took place elsewhere. He checked the library, the sun room, even her bedroom, and still his mother was absent. Eventually, figuring that he might as well take advantage of being back at the manor after so many years, he made his way over to his own bedroom. Nostalgia filled him even in sleep as he wandered the corridors. The portraits that usually hung, displaying the Malfoy ancestors, were faceless. He paid them little mind as he got closer, feeling the anticipation tingling in his limbs. He hadn't entered his room in years. Would it be just as he had left it? With the slate-gray silk bed sheets he'd preferred more than the blue satin ones that his mother liked to place on the bed? And the fireplace, whose mantel held a simple, delicate iron frame and a picture of him, his mother, and his father. Would that be there, too? 

He opened the doors, the solid gold door handles cool under his fingers, and narrowed his eyes as the room came into his view. What he saw nearly woke him from his dream. _He_ was there. In Draco's own room. On his own bed. And Draco honestly believed that his mind was playing tricks on him. But no. There _he_ sat. Harry Potter, looking quite normal, yet glowing in his lightly tanned skin and dark halo of hair. He was facing the high windows, which were open, letting sunlight in, illuminating the room in a glow Draco knew was enhanced because it had never been _that_ bright in real life. 

Draco tried to remain calm for fear of waking himself. He walked closer after a moment's hesitation, tentatively, wondering if Harry Potter would turn to look at him. _Harry_ , Draco thought in wonder. Because he was allowed to address him by his first name in the dream-world where everything he knew existed, yet was so far removed from reality that he could imagine that they'd known each other forever. He walked even closer (and Draco was holding his breath at this point because, _really_ , what was he supposed to expect when his sworn enemy suddenly appeared in his bedroom?) until he came level with him. Then Harry turned towards him and Draco felt his heart drop, for here was Harry Potter looking at him with the most brilliant smile he'd even seen and he wondered what he had to do to just stay in this moment; he didn't care if it wasn't real. He could wish for anything in this world. 

But then Draco paused, for he noticed the tiniest waver in Harry's green-green eyes that made him realize that Harry wasn't looking at him at all. He was looking past Draco, through him, to where his friends were waiting, waving him over. Dream-Harry, million-galleon smile, obeyed and walked towards Draco. Closer and closer until--just as they were level with each other--Harry turned to look at him, a hint of confusion crossing his face. 

And that's when Draco awoke, opening his eyes with difficulty, the last traces of his dreams slowly fading from his memory, except for a pair of emerald eyes and a brilliant smile that he was sure could brighten the world if only they were directed at him. 

oOo

The plan was, as Ron had told him, for Harry to keep Hermione occupied and away from the Burrow until Tuesday evening. He hadn't explained how to get her away from there in the first place, so Harry had asked her to come over on Monday night on account that he had something important to discuss with her. Which was partly true since he'd been wanting to ask her about his magic anyway. 

So here they were, sitting in Harry's renovated study on the second floor. They sat at one of the tables in the middle of the room, a few candles floating nearby providing light. Harry had just revealed to her that he's been having trouble controlling his magic. 

"How long had this been happening, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry opened his mouth to speak but she continued sternly, "And don't you dare lie to me." 

Harry closed his mouth and sighed. "A few months," he answered truthfully. 

" _Months_?" Hermione asked, making Harry wince. "Harry, do you know how dangerous that is?" 

"I figured it was. It's one of the reasons I moved back here to number 12." 

"Yes , but still. It could be dangerous for you!" Hermione went over to one of the bookcases and began to pick out a few tomes. "Thankfully it's not all uncommon to have uncontrolled magic, especially once you've reached adulthood. What is uncommon, Harry, is that you've spent so much time without treatment or help. Has anyone been near you during any of these episodes?" 

Harry thought and said, "No. Usually it's in the early morning when I first wake up. So, no. I don't think so." 

"Good. We don't know how your magic will react in a close encounter with another person." She flipped through the pages of a book. "At St. Mungos we direct unstable witches and wizards to the second floor where they're put in isolation in case their magic reacts violently. It seems yours isn't as bad as that, but we should still take proper precautions so no one gets hurt." 

Harry nodded in agreement. "So, does magic always react badly against other people?" 

"From what I've seen, yes. But there are always exceptions. No one ever really knows how two magic cores will react to one another," she continued. She disappeared behind one of the many rows of bookshelves. 

"Magical cores?" 

"Yes. Cores, essences, whatever you wish to call it," Hermione said as she came back with an armful of books. She staked them on the table in front of them and sat down. "The place inside all of us that holds our magic." 

"Like, what, is it in the spleen or something? The kidneys, maybe?" 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not that simple. Our magic is within us. That's where it manifests. But it doesn't necessarily occupy one specific area of our body. It's everywhere." 

Intrigued, Harry asked, "And what happens if any two magical cores were to meet? Non-violently, I mean." 

Hermione shook her head. "All studies of that remain inconclusive. There've been stories: they could meld into one. A sharing of magical cores, in other words. That, or the cores could be so opposite to one another that they cancel each other out." 

Harry raised his eyebrows. 

"Although, that might fall into the violent category, depending on who you ask...Which is why, Harry, you should be more careful and try to control your magic as soon as you can. I'll ask the Healers on Wednesday for more information. In the meantime, there are some things that we ask the patients to do in similar situations as yours. Meditation for one." 

I've been training and dueling a lot, hoping it'll calm down my magic. It works sometimes." 

Hermione shook her head again and said, "That'll only work temporarily. The only thing you're doing is draining your reserve magic. What you should be doing is trying to control it. Have it listen to you." 

Harry recalled the moment where he'd been unable to cast the spell during last week's training. And how far he had to reach in order to call his magic forward again. He thought that this was what Hermione meant by controlling it. He didn't voice this, since he still felt the lingering embarrassment for having that occur in front of not only the Aurors, but Malfoy as well. Then he remembered what had happened on the last day of their trial-period: how his magic had nearly gotten the better of him after he and Malfoy grazed shoulders. Was that considered normal? 

"Hermione," he started to say as Hermione stood up again. "You know anything about magic trying to reach out to other people? Against their will?" 

Hermione frowned. "Reach out? How so?" 

Harry thought back on the moment. "Like, for example, if I wasn't in control of my magic right this instance and it tried to reach out to you in a non-violent sort of way..." Harry motioned with his hands as if embracing the air. He placed them back on the table. "Does that happen often with some of the patients you've seen?" 

Her frown deepened. "No. I've never seen that happen before." 

Harry's heart sank. 

"If that's happening against your will, Harry--" 

"It's not. I was just wondering," he said quickly. Hermione narrowed her eyes. 

"Well, it seems that it could be one of the side effects of two merging magical cores." 

" _What_?" Harry said, alarmed. 

"Are you sure no one has stumbled upon you during an episode?" 

"Positive," Harry said, not feeling positive at all. 

"Hm. Well, I'll have to read up on that also," Hermione said, her eyes still narrowed in suspicion. Harry looked down at the table, leafing through a book so he wouldn't have to meet her eyes. "Hope you don't mind if I borrow these," she said as she placed the tomes inside the tiny beaded bag she carried everywhere. 

"Not at all. They're yours," Harry said, distractedly. 

"Thank you. Well, I best be off before Mrs. Weasley starts to worry." 

"Wait, you're leaving?" Harry asked, looking back up. He was supposed to keep her here for the night as well. He scrambled for an excuse. "Why don't you stay with me for the night?" 

Hermione raised a polished brow at him suggestively. 

"Merlin, not like that, Hermione," Harry laughed. "It's getting late. Why don't you go get ready for bed and I'll let the Weasley's know that we're having a sleep over." 

"Alright, I am a little tired," Hermione said, stifling a yawn. "Goodnight, Harry. Try to do some meditating tonight and see how that works for you. See you in the morning." 

Harry sagged in his seat in relief as soon as Hermione walked out of the door. He got up after a moment and made his way over to the fireplace at the other end of the room, throwing floo powder on the hearth to make a fire-call to the Weasley's. 

oOo

"Severus," Draco greeted, staring into the portrait of his godfather. 

It was Tuesday morning. Draco had entered the Headmistress' office with a bit of trepidation. But it hadn't taken too much convincing on Draco's end before McGonagall had left him to his devices, saying that she would go down to the Great Hall and take care of a few things before coming back. 

"Well, well, well," Severus began, his voice deep and resonating. "Look who has decided to visit." 

Draco couldn't help the brief smirk that grazed his face. "It's been a while, Severus. I apologize for not visiting sooner." 

"I'm sure there are more important things happening in Draco Malfoy's life than having to visit his godfather." 

"I've been caught up with a few things, yes..." 

"The Auror program, I presume?" 

"I-yes, how'd you know?" 

"I might be dead, Draco, but that does not mean that I don't know what goes on." He paused and then added as explanation, "It was in the Prophet about a month ago." 

Draco paled. "You read it? Did you read what it said about my mother as well?" 

Severus didn't answer right away, possibly assessing Draco's mood. "I did. They called her a coward--" 

"She's dead," Draco interrupted. Severus raised an eyebrow, the only indication that he was surprised at Draco's small outburst. "Two years ago. Her death ruled a suicide in the Daily Prophet." Draco didn't know why he was saying this; Severus will likely have heard about what had happened. But he needed to say it. To talk to someone about it. 

"And was it?" Severus asked. 

"Was it what?" 

"A suicide." 

Draco blinked away, hoping maybe, that he didn't have to answer and confirm it. "Yes?" he said, and it came out more as a question. He shook his head. "I wasn't there when it happened..." The silence that greeted him wasn't all unpleasant and when he looked up again he thought he detected the smallest look of sympathy on his godfather's face before it disappeared. Draco cleared his throat and placed a silencing charm around them (the other portraits had inched closer to them to eavesdrop). "Actually, I have a troubling matter to discuss with you." 

"Go on." 

"It's the Mark. It's been a real bother lately. It's not just me. The others have felt it too." 

"Felt what?" 

"Everyone's Mark seems to have reawakened. That's impossible, isn't it? The only time that the Mark burned was when--" 

"--the Dark Lord was summoning," Severus finished for him. He started to pace around his portrait, his black cloak billowing behind him.

"I've been meeting with the Sons," Draco continued, referring to the sons of the incarcerated Death Eaters. Severus stopped pacing to look at him. 

"Why are you still meeting with them?" Severus lips thinned in what Draco recognized as disapproval. 

Draco shrugged and avoided answering. Instead, he said, "It seems they've heard word of something." Draco lowered hi voice, not entirely trusting the Silencing charm, though he was certain that no one could hear them. "Nott. He said his father said something to him. That they're planning on a break out." 

Severus' eyebrow reached the highest point on his forehead. 

"Do you, maybe, remember anything from back then?" Draco asked. "Something someone might've said concerning a plan in case they were locked up?" 

"No. I assume they all grew comfortable with the belief that the Dark Lord would be ruling the Ministry for a very long time." 

"So you think it's all just talk? Rumors?"

Severus glanced at him, eyeing him with a familiar penetrating gaze. "I think you need to be very careful, Draco. You don't want to be caught up with the wrong crowd again." 

Draco nodded. "Should I say anything then? At headquarters?" 

"We don't know for certain that this is a possibility. We don't want to alarm them until we are certain. For now, Draco, I'd advise you again to proceed with caution. I don't think the Ministry will find it hard to place you in Azkaban if another trial were filed against you. For now we will end the discussion; the Headmistress should be back soon." 

Draco swallowed and nodded again. "If I need to speak with you again?" 

"Refrain from visiting the castle. You'll find a portrait of mine at Spinner's End. I trust you remember how to get there?" 

"Yes." 

"Good. The wards will let you in." 

Draco cancelled the Silencing charm just as McGonagall walked in. He thanked her again, wished her well, and left. 

oOo 

When Harry and Hermione arrived at the Burrow Tuesday evening, they were greeted to a thunderous yell of "Surprise!" from what seemed to be the whole of the Weasley clan and extended family. Hermione, nearly fainting from the shock, slapped Harry on the arm for not warning her beforehand. Soon they were being dragged away into the circles of the family (amidst cries of "Happy Birthday, Hermione!"), before they all migrated to the backyard. Tables had been set up, scattered around the lawn haphazardly. In the middle of it all was a small patch of grass which had been cleared to create a small, intimate dance floor. 

After their meal, Ron and Hermione had disappeared and Harry was left sitting at one of the tables with Andromeda Tonks and little Teddy Lupin, who was curled up on his lap babbling to Harry about the socks he was currently wearing. Teddy's curly hair was a mixture of brown and auburn, flowing through different shades as he spoke. 

"Harry?" Ginny's voice interrupted their conversation. They both looked up, one in question and the other in indignation. "Care for a dance?" Ginny smiled and stretched out her hand. Harry, hesitating for a moment, gently dropped the protesting Teddy on his grandmother's lap before being led away with his hand in Ginny's. Regrettably, George had chosen to change the song that had been playing to a slow one, winking at Harry in the process. Harry had to hold back a roll of his eyes as Ginny wrapped her arms securely around his neck. 

"Has he asked her yet?" Harry asked quickly, feeling that Ginny had just been about to say something affectionate. He kept his eyes focused just above her shoulder, towards the table where Angeline Johnson-Weasley was rocking Fred Jr. to sleep. 

"It should be any minute now, " Ginny said, her fingers drawing circles absentmindedly on Harry's shirt. He felt her come even closer to him, her chest pressed snug against his. He fought the urge to step back for fear of becoming obvious and rude. "Isn't it romantic though, Harry?" 

Harry wondered whether she was referring to Ron and Hermione, or the fact that they were standing much too close together, swaying slowly to a ridiculous song about trains and expectations*. He concluded that it was the former and was just about to respond appropriately when a scream interrupted their moment. 

Over on the far side of their lawn, surrounded by floating candles, were Ron and Hermione. Ron had just stood up from his kneeling position, grinning like an idiot, and Hermione flung herself to him, her feet dangling off the ground. There was an uproar from the tables, cheering and cat-calling (from George), as Ron swung Hermione in circles. Harry was laughing and clapping along with the rest of the family when, quite suddenly, he was jerked sideways and into the arms of Ginny. She pressed her lips firmly on his own, her hands warm on the sides of his face. Having been caught terribly off-guard. Harry froze on the spot, his lips tight. 

"No! No!" A small body came in between them, pulling them apart. Teddy had rushed in to Harry's rescue, pushing Ginny's knees away. Harry and Ginny pulled apart. 

"Teddy, dear, the grown-ups are talking," Ginny softly chastised him. But Harry quickly gathered Teddy into his arms, his curly brown hair turning three shades lighter when Harry held him close. He resisted the urge to wipe his mouth. 

"No!" Teddy said again. "Hawwy's mine!" Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but Harry beat her to it. 

"Ginny, I'm..." He cursed his lack of eloquent language. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say." 

"You don't have to say anything, Harry. Let's just be together." Her voice held hope. She tried to come closer and Harry couldn't help but step back. "Come on, Harry. You said you needed some time to think about things--" 

"Yeah, and I have--" 

"I've given you months to think. Don't you think that's enough?" She brought her hand to his arm and stroked it gently. She smiled. "Why don't you come back to me?" 

Harry bit his cheek. He could feel his magic coming forward and onto the surface of his skin. "I-I don't think we can be together, Gin. Things just aren't the same anymore." 

"Bollocks, Harry. I know things aren't the same anymore, but you can't tell me that after all we've been through," she said, her eyes fiery in her anger. "We were happy together." 

"I know. I know. And I won't deny that..." he trailed off, very aware that they'd caught the attention of everyone at the tables. "I was happy. You're amazing, Gin. I mean it." 

"Then why can't you come back to me?" she said almost desperately. 

Harry winced and moved Teddy to his other hip. "Don't do this right now, Ginny, please." He felt heat creeping up on his face. He placed a wandless silencing charm around little Teddy, who was growing agitated in his arms, so that he wouldn't have to listen to the coming argument. 

"If not now, when?" Ginny asked, putting her palms up in question. "I want to get married, too, Harry!" 

Harry's lips thinned, his heart beating uncomfortably fast. When he didn't answer. Ginny clenched her fists before reaching for his face again and kissing him. This time Harry pushed her away, angered. 

"Why can't you just give up?" he heard himself say harshly. Ginny's eyebrows furrowed, her eyes glistening. Harry cursed himself. 

"I'll make you happy," she whispered. 

Harry's hands tightened around Teddy. "No. No, you won't." 

"How can you say that?" 

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. "Don't do this. Don't make me say it..." Harry felt his stomach knotting unpleasantly, all his confusion, frustration, and self-hatred bubbling up to the surface. 

"Say what? _What_ , Harry?" Ginny questioned. She waited a moment, her eyes searching his before she scowled and lashed out, " _What, Harry? What_ don't you want to say?! You haven't given me a good enough--" 

"Because I'm gay!" Harry yelled, the hold on his magic breaking as it jumped out of his skin. Ginny gasped. Harry, well-aware that he had now placed Teddy and the rest of the family at terrible risk, quickly placed Teddy on the grass away from him. Andromeda gathered him up against Teddy's please and cries of, "Hawwy! Hawwy!" Ginny stood still, too shocked to say anything, while Harry tried to control his rising anger and panic. He breathed with difficulty. Everyone had heard. That fact was painfully clear as the whole lawn had grown silent. Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted Ron and Hermione. He glanced in their direction, instantly regretting it when he caught sight of their face. Hermione looked saddened, filled with pity and Ron-- _oh, God_ \--Ron's face was pale in the moonlight, and it was filled with betrayal. They stared at each other for a second, for a minute, Harry trying desperately to convey his apologies for things turning out this way, for not telling him sooner. But then Ron blinked and his face became a clear mask, before he turned away and walked inside the house. Harry suddenly found that he could no longer breathe, a crushing weight on his chest where there should have been relief for finally coming out to his family. 

Ginny still stood in front of him, for once at a loss for words. So Harry spared her the effort. He needed to get out of there. He felt his legs moving automatically, moving faster the closer he got to the edge of the lawn and to the apparition point. Vaguely, he thought he recognized Hermione's voice. Not Ginny's, or Ron's, or anyone else's for that matter. He turned back once, quickly, casting a glance to Teddy to dispel the silencing charm and to make sure that he was safe, and disapparated. 

oOo

Draco stood smoking at the top floor of his building, by the railing overlooking the street below. It was dark; the streetlights had flickered on. 

"Hey," Blaise said from behind and came to stand beside him. They watched the cars below, intermittent, illuminating the street as they passed. "What are you doing up here?" 

"Reflecting," Draco said. He flicked the cigarette butt over the railing. 

"On what?" 

"On why I still put up with you." 

Blaise huffed in mild amusement. "I got a fire call from Theodore just now," he said, ignoring what Draco had said. 

"Any news?" 

"Not yet. They'll be here Friday to discuss a new hide out. And to possibly establish the secret keeper," Blaise said. 

Draco kept his face clear, but he was already working on the possible ways that he could make himself the secret keeper. He thought it would be advisable to do so, since he would have more freedom on the information that he could give out in case of a breakout. 

"You know what this means, don't you?" Blaise asked. 

Draco gave him a sideways glance. He figured that Blaise was referring to the possibility of their fathers' freedom. "Having second thoughts?" he asked. 

Blaise scoffed, but the sounds was unconving. "It's what we've been wanting," he answered. 

Draco for one, could not figure out what exactly he wanted. What would it mean for Draco if his father escaped? How could anything go back to normal? To what it used to be? They would have to go back into hiding all over again. And though Draco would never admit to it, he'd gotten used to being on his own, with his freedom. Yet...he couldn't help but feel hopeful, however small the feeling was, that though his mother was gone, maybe things would be okay. 

"You don't think it's all just hearsay?" Draco dared to ask. "That it's highly improbable that all of them will break out with such ease?" 

Blaise narrowed his eyes at him. "Of course it won't be easy. But it'll happen whether you want it to or not." 

"I never said I didn't want it." 

"Well, then you should watch what you say, Drake. Someone might think you've gone soft with all your fucking Auror business..." Blaise left his sentence hanging, watching Draco as if expecting him to explain what exactly was his Auror business. 

Draco didn't reply. Instead he focused his gaze on the horizon. He felt the beginning droplets of a late summer storm. After sensing Blaise's gaze on him long after Draco had turned away, he said, "I haven't changed." 

As if that was the cue Blaise was looking for, he came closer, his mouth on Draco's ear. "Why don't you prove that to me?" 

Draco froze, and turned away when Blaise attempted to kiss him. But then Blaise moved to his neck, kissing him there, biting hard before maneuvering Draco so that their bodies faced each other. He pressed against him and Draco let out a breath before closing his eyes. He rested his forehead against Blaise's shoulder, resigned, and felt Blaise reaching up, slowly running his hand along Draco's left arm and to his shoulder. This time Draco went in for a kiss but Blaise moved his hand to Draco's jaw, effectively stopping him. 

Draco opened his eyes and stared in question into the dark brown eyes before deciding that he didn't want to look at them. They weren't the ones he wanted. 

When Blaise gave a slight push down on his shoulder, Draco obeyed. He got on his knees. He undid the buttons of Blaise's trousers, sliding them down a bit to release him. After a moment of hesitation, Draco moved forward, sliding his tongue along Blaise's length. Blaise let out a grunt of satisfaction; Draco slipped him into his mouth, allowing his tongue to run under his shaft, moving back and forth in a slow cadence. When he took him in deeper, Blaise grabbed a handful of Draco's hair and thrust into his mouth, hard. Draco choked, surprised, placing his hands on Blaise's waist to push him off. He wouldn't budge. Instead, Blaise began to thrust, never releasing Draco's hair. He was trapped and slowly running out of air with every push inside his mouth. He clenched his fingers against Blaise's waist, knowing his nails were digging into skin, and still he wouldn't relent. His throat was burning, his eyes watered at the pain. Just when he was sure he would pass out from lack of oxygen, Blaise stilled, shuddered, and Draco felt the hot liquid slide down his throat. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and finally he was let go. He fell forward on all fours, coughing and dry heaving. His stomach lurched. 

When Draco had composed himself, Blaise was gone. He stood and leaned his lower back against the railing, running his hand impatiently through his hair, trying to settle it back down where Blaise had tousled it. He realized he was breathing hard, his chest constricting. He felt as though he was still trapped; as though nobody was giving him a break. Nobody, not even the rain, which had begun to pour heavily on his head and on his shoulders, soaking his expensive cloak. After he'd sufficiently calmed his breathing, he wiped his mouth, admittedly not wanting the taste to remain on his mouth, cast a drying charm on himself, and made his way down to his rooms. 

oOo

_End Chapter Seven_

_*reference to a great song by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds--O Children_


	8. Keep Your Last Breath

_warnings: language, mild violence, m/m content_

oOo

Harry gave up trying to sleep that night. He could feel it. The nightmares at the forefront of his barely conscious mind. It didn't help that he'd taken to raiding the Black family cellar, which was filled with wines dating back centuries before. One 1854 wine bottle in particular, from the _Chateau Mouton Rothschild_ , wavered precariously at the edge of Harry's bedside table. He didn't bother catching it as it slipped and crashed to the floor. Merely winced as the sound reverberated somewhere inside his skull. He stared at the now empty spot on the table and wondered if he'd possibly be able to wandlessly summon another bottle from the cellar below. His fogged brain struggled to make sense of his delirium and after a moment Harry remembered the reason why he was lying half-drunk, half-hungover on his bed in the first place. 

His chest tightened painfully and he groaned, burying his head into his pillow. He was trying to forget the dreadful event that happened two nights ago. He wore himself out in the dueling room he'd made in the attic, practicing his spells and curses. When that hadn't helped, the wine cellar had seemed like the most wonderful idea, but now...not so much. 

No one had been in contact with him for two whole days. Granted, he's locked the fireplace and entrances to make sure not even an owl could enter. But Harry was certain that his family didn't want to talk to him anyway. Not after his humiliating display. 

Harry turned over to lay on his back, going still as a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. After the feeling died down, Harry replayed the scene over in his mind, wondering if he'd been right to come out in front of the entire family. Maybe he should've waited, picked a better time and place to do it. But then he supposed he would've had to do it eventually. Although he was still plenty confused about things, a small part of him was relieved that he no longer had to submit himself to Ginny's come-ons. He sighed and carefully sat up, reeling as another bout of nausea hit him. 

With tremendous effort he cleared the broken shards of his _Rothschild_ and summoned a bottle of hangover potion from his bathroom cabinet. He uncapped the bottle and emptied his contents, relief spreading through him as his body slowly grew warm. After a minute he stood, his feet slightly unbalanced, and headed for the shower. 

A while later, feeling refreshed and still a little light-headed, Harry went down the stairs and to his sitting room. It was still dark outside, a few hours shy of dawn. He lit the fireplace and winced at the sight that met him. The room was completely destroyed; scattered pieces of his furniture lay everywhere, evidence of the aftermath of Harry's uncontrolled magic. He walked carefully over to the wall, feeling a twinge of regret for the irreparably torn tapestry that must've been hand-crafted centuries ago by one of Sirius' ancestors. He smoothed it out back to its original form and sighed, letting it go again--Sirius wouldn't have missed it anyway--and turned to face the rest of the room. At least he hadn't destroyed the rest of the house. 

With a slightly empty feeling in his chest, Harry began the task of cleaning up his mess. 

\-------------------- 

When Friday morning finally arrived a few hours later, Harry decided to unlock the fireplace. (What if Teddy or Hermione or Mrs. Weasley were in trouble and had no way of contacting him?) He waved his wand over the mantel, feeling the wards pulling and pushing, and, satisfied, he pocketed his wand. Just as he was turning away to possibly make himself a cup of tea, the fireplace roared to life and in came a flying Hermione. 

A scream, a shout, and two groans later: Harry and Hermione were sprawled on the floor in a tangle of limbs. 

"Hermione!" 

"Harry James Potter, you get off of me right this instant!" Hermione's voice was loud in his ears as she pulled herself painfully away from his legs. 

"Hermione, ow! OW! Hold up..." Harry winced as Hermione freed herself with a final yank and stood up in front of him, breathless and fuming. "You're--" Harry started. 

"Shush! Harry Potter, what in the hell were you thinking blocking me away from this house?!" Hermione yelled. "Do you have any idea how-how _worried_ I was that you would go and do something so _stupid_ and get yourself hurt? No, _no_ , Harry you don't get to speak just yet. Why? _Why_ would you think it necessary to run away from me, _especially_ \--shut up-- _especially_ after confessing something like that to the entire Weasleys? Did you even _think_ for one second what kind of uproar you were going to cause? We though you were going to hurt yourself, Harry! We-we thought..." and Hermione paused at this point, biting her bottom lip to possibly keep the tears from falling. 

Harry waited semi-patiently on the ground as Hermione composed herself. After about a second, Harry chanced, "Hermione?" 

" _What_?" she snapped. 

Harry motioned to his right foot, which was painfully pinched between the ground and the sole of her shoe. 

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Harry, are you alright?" she asked. She deflated, joining him on the ground and sitting herself in front of him. 

"Yeah, Hermione. I'm fine." 

They were silent and then, 

"I'm--," started Harry. "You're--," Hermione began. 

They stopped and laughed quietly. 

"Hermione, I'm...really sorry about how that happened. I had absolutely no intention of ruining your birthday like that. I had no right--" 

"Stop. You didn't ruin anything, Harry. I'm not mad at you because of what you did. I'm angry because you didn't give us a chance to talk to you after. I was so worried about you. You can't shut us out like that anymore. Not again. We're not just friends, Harry. We're a family. And we go through these things together. Always." 

Harry tore his gaze away from her and picked at a loose string on his trousers, willing the burning in his eyes to subside. When it didn't, he dragged Hermione closer to him and buried his face in a mane of curly brown hair. "I'm so sorry." 

"For what?" Hermione sniffed. 

"For not telling you sooner." 

"You should be. Would've saved us both a few headaches." 

Harry pulled away. "What do you mean?" 

"Oh, Harry, it was so obvious--" 

"Wait, you knew?! And you didn't tell me? Wait...that doesn't even make sense. _I_ didn't even really know...I'm still confused! And what about all those times you kept mentioning Ginny?" Harry asked all at once, slightly annoyed and embarrassed. 

"I was just trying to get you to talk to me already. Honestly, I'm slightly offended that you didn't come to me sooner." 

"That's none of your business!" Harry stood and stormed into the kitchen. Hermione followed from behind. "You know, it isn't easy to...you know...come out." 

"I know." 

"No, apparently you don't," Harry said, pouring himself and Hermione a cup of tea. 

"No, you're right. I'm sorry," Hermione said, accepting her cup and taking a sip. She swallowed and continued, "I still feel you should've--" 

"Oh, shut it," Harry said, and Hermione laughed. They settled comfortably at the kitchen table. 

"So...so how's Ron?" Harry finally asked after a few minutes of silence. Hermione didn't answer immediately, and Harry clenched his teeth. "That bad is he?" 

"He's...adjusting to the news," Hermione said carefully. 

"What the fuck does that even mean?" 

"Well," Hermione said. She swirled a finger around the top of her empty cup before bringing it to her lips and pretending a sip. Harry had the strangest and slightly mad urge to laugh, but the next words sobered him up quick. "He hasn't really talked about it He avoids the topic like the plague even though I've tried talking to him about what happened." She glanced down at her empty cup. "He leaves the room whenever I mention you." 

Harry, who'd just been about to take a sip, placed his mug rather hard back on the table. Hermione winced. "Oh, does he now? What, am I so disgusting to him that he can't stand even to talk about me?" Harry fumed. "Well, you can tell Ronald that he's a fucking wanker." Harry crossed his arms across his chest, hurt. "You can tell him that I don't give a fuck what he thinks anymore." He uncrossed his arms and leaned towards Hermione, his finger waving. "You can tell him--" 

"I'm not an owl, Harry." 

Harry sat back in his chair, arms crossed again, and glared at the wall. He apologized and Hermione sighed. 

"Give him some time to come 'round," Hermione said. She fingered the engagement ring she wore on her left hand. Harry blinked away, feeling the guilt rush back to him. Hermione continued, "He always comes 'round..." 

"And...and the rest of the family?" 

"They were a bit shocked, unsurprisingly." 

"They hate me?" 

"No," Hermione said gently. "They're rather understanding about the whole thing. This isn't as big a deal as it is in the muggle world." 

"Thank Merlin." 

"Mrs. Weasley does wish to speak with you though. She was near hysterics when we couldn't get a hold of you in the past two days." 

Harry nodded at the wall and chewed his lip slowly. There was just one more person that he was wondering about--the reason that he'd created this mess in the first place. Hermione, bless her, guessed Harry's question after only a glance in her direction. 

"Ginny's gone to Luna's for the time being. Said she needs the fresh air before Quidditch season starts up again." 

Harry nodded once more, feeling an ache in his heart for having driven her far away. He could only hope that time would heal their broken friendship. He heaved a great sigh and ran a hand through his hair. The sleepless nights were catching up to him; his limbs felt lethargic. But he stood and began to prepare the two of them breakfast, Hermione joining in a second later. 

oOo

Draco narrowed his eyes against the sun which was slowly disappearing in the horizon. Friday evening was drawing closer and with it, the rise of a bright moon in the distance. Draco reached into the pocket of his onyx black cloak and pulled out his cigarette pack, slipping one of the stems between his lips and lighting it with his wand. He inhaled and turned his head slightly to the left to exhale the smoke away from his face. His dress shoes clipped smartly against the black cobbled walkway of the Nott family estate. He straightened his clothes as he got closer to the entrance. Soon he reached the front portico, knocked twice at the door, and waited a moment before allowing himself to enter. He held back a roll of his eyes when five house elves appeared in front of him. He declined their offers of wine, allowed one of them to take his cloak, and reluctantly accepted the ashtray in which he put out his cigarette after one final drag. He tried to ignore the blatant display of wealth that filled every corner of the Nott estate. From the commissioned Italian tapestries when he passed the waiting room, to the fine china vases that Draco was sure he'd seen displayed at the Malfoy manor before. Reluctantly, he admitted that the exaggerated displays of wealth wasn't just characteristic of the Nott's, for the clearly remembered his father doing the exact same thing whenever he and his mother would have guests over. Draco made a mental note to inquire Blaise as to why the fuck they'd changed their meeting place at the last bloody minute. After a few more strides down one of the hallways, Draco entered the parlor and greeted the wizards who were already there. 

There was no absinthe this time. 

No one spoke until the last person had come in. Draco stood near the fireplace, elbow resting casually against the mantel. When Adrian Pucey finally arrived, Theodore wasted no time before raising his wand to magically close and lock the wooden doors. He waved his wand around the room, casting a silencing charm and privacy spell around them. 

Draco, who was inconspicuously studying the charm for breaks in the spell, took out his pack once again and slipped a cigarette between his lips. He lit it and inhaled. He decided to remain silent during the meeting, except for when it was absolutely necessary. He didn't want to seem too interested, but at the same time he needed to be ready to say his part--to be able to change the direction of their discussion in his favor. He took the cigarette between his right index and middle finger, lowered it, and placed his free hand in the pocket of his slacks. 

Ten in all, Draco thought as he eyed the room. Himself, Theodore, Blaise, Pucey, Flora, Hestia, Terence Higgs, Astoria Greengrass, Damien Rosier, and Gregory Goyle. He'd actually been quite surprised to see his old friend. The last he'd seen of him, he had married off with Millicent Bullstrode. He held back a shiver at the thought. Needless to say their friendship had long ended with the death of Vincent at the Battle of Hogwarts. He raised his hand to his mouth to take another drag. 

"The first order of business," Theodore began, crossing his legs as he sat in one of the armchairs. "Our marks."

"Have you spoken to your father about it?" 

"Briefly" 

"How was he able to contact you in the first place?" asked Terence, his deep voice a strong contrast with the boyish features on his face. 

"A two-way mirror," Theodore answered. "Found them while I was artifact hunting in Central America. Snuck it past the Dementors...nothing suspicious about a mirror is there?" He smirked, but the moment lasted less than a second. "The last I spoke with him was to question if he was feeling the burn of the mark." 

"Did he say what the reason is for it? Why they're burning?" asked Flora. 

"He..." The hesitation was evident, and Draco narrowed his eyes. Theodore continued, "He didn't give an answer for that, but I'm assuming it'll all be clear when they break out by the year's closing. They say they've found a way to lessen the hold of the Dementors; that they're slowly planning their break-out. Which brings me to our second order of business: The location of our headquarters. The Carrow manor--" 

"The Carrow manor has been publicly exposed. It is known to house previous Death Eaters," Draco said as he leaned his back against the mantel. 

"It's one of the most inconspicuous houses out of all them," Flora protested. 

"It'll be one of the first places the Ministry will look. Don't be foolish," Draco said. 

"We've already decided--" began Hestia angrily. 

"What would you suggest, Draco?" Theodore asked, waving his hand for the Carrow sisters to remain silent. "You don't exactly have a place to offer to us." 

"And what more, who's to say you won't go blabbing the location to your bloody Auror friends?" Adrian Pucey said. A murmur of agreements spread through some of the group. 

Draco took his time answering, steeling himself mentally for what he should say. He took one last drag of the cigarette, reached for the ashtray that appeared on the mantel, and put it out. Without looking up he slowly exhaled, dusted off the ash from his hands, and said, "I think, Pucey, that you're not quite understanding the delicate position that I'm in." He looked up at the man. "So let me explain it to you in words that you'll understand. Being employed at the DMLE is advantageous for us. If I'm working with the Aurors I'll be able to plant false information. I'll make it that much harder for them to find us. That way, those 'bloody Auror friends' that you spoke about won't find your arse and put it in Azkaban." 

Pucey scowled. 

"Will you be able to play the part, though?" Blaise spoke up, his eyes narrowed. 

Draco glanced his way. "I'll do anything if it means releasing my father from that shithole." 

"So what _exactly_ are you suggesting?" Theodore repeated. 

"That you leave it up to me. I'll look at the records. Find a place that's not on their maps. Somewhere they won't think to look," Draco said. 

Theodore gazed at him for a moment, licked his lips, and nodded. "So be it. In one week I'm expected to speak with my father again. Notify me before then." Draco nodded once and Theodore continued almost hesitantly, "The last thing my father said--" he paused, and winced, along with a few of the others in the group. 

Draco clenched his teeth against the pain that shot through his forearm. Not being able to help it, he grabbed it, holding his forearm tightly in his right hand. 

"That's the strongest it's ever been," Damien Rosier said. "You think maybe the Dark Lord--" 

"Enough," Theodore said, visibly unsettled. He turned to Draco. "The sooner we get a fucking place secured the faster we can find out what the hell is going on. Don't fail us, Draco. Now get the fuck out of my house." He stood, waved his wand once to drop the wards for them, and left the room. 

There was movement in the parlor as one-by-one they disapparated from the estate. Draco waited until the room was empty, took his cloak from one of the house elves that had appeared by his side, and walked out of the room, following the direction Theodore had gone. He soon came upon a study, and he entered. Not was leaning against a desk, staring outside a grand window. He held his arm close to his side. 

"I said get out," Theodore said. 

"What was the last thing your father said?" Draco said, coming up next to him. 

Theodore sighed and let go of his arm. "Nothing we should take seriously..." He turned away from the window, back to his desk and ruffled a few pieces of parchment which Draco guessed listed the numerous objects that the artifact-hunter was looking for. Draco waited. 

Eventually, "You remember the article in the Daily Prophet? The one about your father?" Theodore asked, still shuffling his notes around. Draco didn't answer. "You remember how he looked? How much...how much your father seemed to have...deteriorated in such a short amount of time?" 

He stopped the shuffling and placed the palms of his hands on his desk. "It's exactly how Father looked." He shook his head. "Though I was rather fortunate enough to also hear his voice..." He looked up at Draco at this point. "There wasn't much that I could interpret." 

Draco raised an eyebrow. "The how do we know that they're even conscious enough to break out?" he asked. 

"He kept saying...whispering in between our conversation...'He's back...He's back.'" 

Draco felt his stomach drop to the floor. "That's impossible." 

"Then how the _fuck_ do you explain this, Draco?" Theodore reached out and grabbed his forearm harshly where the Dark Mark lay. Draco winced. "Fucking tell me!" 

Draco tore his arm away, clenching the cloak he carried in his right hand harder than necessary. "I guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?" Draco said quietly. There was another second of eye contact before Draco turned to walk away. He heard Theodore speak behind him. 

"Even if Father's gone mad...Even if he's too far gone...I need to get him out of there. He doesn't belong in there." 

Draco left without a response. 

oOo

When Draco entered the training room on Monday morning for Poisons & Antidotes, he was greeted by the most satisfying sight he'd witnessed in a very long while. He walked slowly to his usual spot at the long wooden table, in front of one of the silver cauldrons that he used for their potion-making. He took in the glorious scene in front of him. 

Potter and Weasley had arrived before Draco, but instead of taking their usual positions at the table, the two Gryffindors were sat at opposite ends, away from each other. This in itself was spiking Draco's curiousity more than it probably should, but then Draco could also feel the tension, palpable in the silence that permeated the room. He itched to find the reason for the animosity between the two friends. Had the trio broken up for good this time? Draco wondered hopefully. 

Draco took out his wand, waved it inside the base of the cauldron for some routine cleaning, keeping an inconspicuous eye at what was unraveling before him. Potter seemed as though he wanted to say something, if the quick glances at Weasley were anything to go by. Weasley, though, kept his head forward and down. _Coward_ , Draco thought maliciously. Just when Potter finally opened his mouth to speak, Dean Thomas walked in. 

Thomas greeted the two jovially. He paused when all he received were two half-arsed nods in his direction. "What's up with you two?" 

"Nothing," Weasley answered. 

"Nothing," Potter answered with a weak smile thrown in Thomas' direction. 

Thomas placed himself between the two, expression filled with confusion. 

This is just too good, Draco thought with amusement. Draco had always wondered how the pair could've remained friends for so long. He supposed it had to do with the fame-and-fortune-seeking trait that the Weasley's seemed to carry. Especially the Weasley girl, Draco thought with a grimace of disgust. In Draco's opinion, Potter could do with a much better crown and--he stopped his thoughts from going any further in that direction, a vivid memory of rejection creeping into his brain unwantedly. Anyway, he remembered during their fourth year when the entire school had been gossiping about the breakup of the famous trio. Something involving Weasley's jealousy at Harry's entering of the Triwizard tournament. Or was that fifth year? Draco shook his head. The point was that the blood-traitor, Weasley, had never been good enough for Potter, and maybe Potter was finally realizing the fact. 

When Williamson arrived a few minutes later, Draco didn't have any more room to wonder the mystery of the Weasley-Potter breakup, since brewing the Venomous Tentacula juice required his full and undivided attention for the rest of the day. 

oOo

"You are not giving it all you've got. Do you think dark wizards are going to wait until you've caught your breath before flinging a curse? NO. KEEP RUNNING," Savage drawled at the four of them during their obstacle-course-combat-training on Thursday. Who'd have thought, Draco wondered darkly, that Auror training would be equivalent to the stupid Muggle S.A.S. or the Muggle Navy SEAL's? Never mind how Draco even knew about them; _this_ was definitely not what he had signed up for. Draco increased his running speed as he approached a solid ten-foot wall in front of them. Yes, he thought, go ahead and ignore the fact that they were wizards and perfectly capable of using magic to destroy whatever got in their way. Go ahead and lock up our wands for the day! Draco gritted his teeth. Go ahead and let us do it the _fucking Muggle way!_

With a burst of speed Draco leapt up towards the wall. He placed a foot on it as leverage and pushed up, just barely managing to grab a hold of the top ledge. He pulled himself up. Below, and on the other side of the wall was a vast dark pool of water. He dived in as gracefully as he could. A violent splash of water around him told him that the others were not far behind. Resurfacing, Draco took stock of his surroundings and swam forward. When he reached the edge, he climbed out, shedding his cloak so that it wouldn't slow him down. Just as he was about to take off in a sprint towards the spiked fences they were meant to crawl under, his feet were dragged from under him and he hit the ground hard. He hissed as an excruciating pain shot up from his elbow, but he only had a second to register it before he was being pulled back towards the water, thick ropes binding themselves around his ankles. No matter, Draco thought, I'll just hex this thing off. He reached his good arm into his trouser pocket. It was empty. _Fuck_. The damage he will do to Savage's face when he gets his wand back! 

Draco didn't have time to relish in the thought because he then realized that there was nothing for him to grab on to that would keep him above the water. He cursed and took one final breath before he was fully submerged in the water. Had it been this cold the first time around? Draco bent towards his ankles; the ropes were slowly cutting off the circulation in his feet. He tried to untie himself from it with his good arm--the other floated painfully at his side and Draco had the sneaking suspicion that his elbow was broken--to wriggle his legs free from the bonds, all the while being dragged further down the vast pool. Bubbles floated up above his head, to the surface he supposed, which he could not see anymore. He tore at the ropes with both hands, his heart pumping a lot faster now that his oxygen had run out. And no, he was not panicking, but for fuck's sake, why weren't they coming off? 

After another minute of frantic (albeit inevitably slowed down by the water) clawing, his muscles began to grow lax. He was quickly running out of strength to keep his hands moving. Finally, finally he freed one leg but it didn't matter. He couldn't seem to find his other ankle, much less figure out which way was up or down if he ever did manage to free it. 

The cold had seeped in, much further into his skin, settling in his bones and vaguely, very vaguely Draco figured that this was a good way to go. 

There was a movement in the water then, a rippling, a disturbance, coming closer. The view in front of Draco darkened a greater deal. He felt something near him, something against him, something on either sides of his face. Hands, maybe. And then a light, light pressure over his mouth, on his lips, forcing them apart and Draco's chest was tightening, his lungs compressing and then expanding agonizingly under his ribs but he wasn't sure whether it was from the beautiful relief of having one more breath fill his lungs, or from the pressure, light pressure of another pair of lips that were still over his mouth softly and secure before pulling away. There was a flash of light dimmed in the water near his legs, an arm around his waist and Draco was coming back up to the surface, breaking the water and nearly passing out with the rush of air that went through his body. He coughed and sputtered. His head was pounding, his heart was pounding, and when his vision cleared, he stared. Stared at Harry Potter floating in front of him, looking as much out of breath as if he too had almost nearly drowned in the water. 

oOo

What Draco couldn't understand, as he sat among the others in the training room nursing a pepper-up potion, is why _Potter_ of all people. Just, _why_? _Why_ did he have to be born? _Why_ did he have to exist if he was just going to torture Draco with all of his...Potterness? 

Draco took more of the required sips, warmth pooling around his limbs. He adjusted his right arm, which was still sore from its freshly healed injury. He shot a glare at the unruly head of hair that was Potter's. He hadn't even bothered to dry it, and strands of still-wet-jet-black hair stuck to the sides of the man's face. What a wanker. What a fucking wanker. They should just call him the Wanker of the Wizard World for all the fucking meddling that he did. He smirked at the thought. 

Draco lifted his good hand and absentmindedly touched his lips. So engrossed was he thinking about Harry Potter that he almost didn't catch what Oliver Wood was saying to them during their debriefing. The words "partner" rang in his ears. 

"--and considering the rigorousness of the program, we are going to ask that you pair up with someone in your cohort," Wood was telling them. 

Draco lowered his hand. This was just great. It'll be just his luck to end up with a Gryffindor as a partner. One Gryffindor in particular. What would be the benefit of that anyway? he wanted to ask. But his voice was slightly lost from all the pool water he inhaled, so he kept it in. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his dry robes and pulled out his cigarette. He placed it in his mouth. 

"Harry, you'll be paired with Ro--" 

"Malfoy," Potter blurted out quickly. 

Draco nearly dropped his cigarette. _What_? 

"I'm sorry?" Wood asked. 

"Malfoy. He'll be my partner," Potter said, sealing Draco's fate. Draco's eyebrows weren't the only ones that rose in surprise. 

"Well, if you're sure," Wood said, throwing Draco a suspicious look. Draco held back the urge to flip him off. "Ron, Dean you'll be partners for the rest of your training then. Now go home. I'll see you all tomorrow for defense." 

Draco chewed on the tip of his cigarette, highly annoyed. Potter was staring across the table, not at him, but at the blood-traitor. Weasley wasn't giving in. Instead, Weasley stood up and started conversing with Thomas. Potter had the audacity to look disheartened.

Aggravated, Draco banished the cigarette and stood up. "Potter," he hissed, making Potter jump slightly in his seat. Draco lowered his voice so the others wouldn't hear and also because it hurt like hell to speak. "A word." He glared for another second before making his way out of the door towards the Auror Common Room. He heard footsteps following from behind. 

When they entered the room Draco wasted no time before turning around to face him. He winced and stepped back; Potter had nearly bumped into his face. He glared once more and Harry's face tinged a satisfying pink. 

"Potter," he started once more. "I'm not going to be your babysitter so go back to Oliver Wood and tell him that you've changed your mind. Make Weasley your partner because I sure as hell will not be spending three years stuck by _your_ side!" 

"No." 

"No?" Draco asked, surprised and slightly put out by how fast Potter had answered. 

"No," Potter repeated more firmly. 

"Did you not listen to what I just said? I _will not_ spend--" 

"I heard you," Potter said coldly, cutting him off. "And I said no. So deal with it for fuck's sake." 

Draco opened his mouth to speak but Potter stopped him again. 

"If you wanna change partners so much then why don't _you_ go to Oliver?" 

"He's not going to listen to me!" 

"That's too fucking bad then, isn't it?" Harry's fuming emerald eyes looked at him in challenge, lips slightly pouting. 

Draco clenched and unclenched his teeth, wanting very much to hex the bastard's mouth off his face. 

"Fine," Draco said, stepping closer to him. Potter had the good grace to take a small step back. Draco lifted a finger and jabbed him in the chest. "But don't expect me to make things easier for you, Potter. Because I sure as hell won't expect it from you." He lowered his hand and walked away, making sure to bump his shoulders so hard that Potter wouldn't mistake it for an accident. 

\-------------------- 

Harry watched Malfoy walk out of the Auror common room with his stupid expensive onyx robes billowing behind him. A fucking "thank you" would've been nice, Harry thought heatedly. He rubbed at his shoulder, where a pool of his magic had gathered, buzzing at the touch. That'll be there for a while, Harry mused, feeling the same buzzing feelings on his lips from earlier. He swallowed with difficulty. He didn't think that it was a good thing when his sworn enemy wasn't letting up, even after saving him from his certain death. He let out a breath of frustration. This was turning out to be a very bad day for him. No. Scratch that. It was turning out to be a very shitty first week of training. Not only has he made very little progress with the meditation Hermione had prescribed for him, but Harry was also caught in between the desire to reconcile with his best friends and the desire to hit him upside the head for his sheer blockheadedness. Harry shed his brown A.T. robes and flung it on one of the couches. Fuck it, Harry thought as he made his way up to the showers. If Ron was going to act like such a dick and avoid him at all cost, then Harry will do the same. 

oOo

The following week turned out to be much the same for Harry. Katherine had just left Harry in one of the infirmary beds after healing a gash on his cheek, courtesy of Malfoy. The bastard had been true to his word, and gave Harry a hard time during their training sessions. Particularly, Malfoy seemed to be trying to curse Harry's face off, since all his shots seemed to be aimed in that vicinity. He couldn't really blame him; Harry himself had trouble looking in the mirror after all the sleepless nights he'd gone through. They've taken their toll. Not that Harry wasn't holding his own during training. Harry was at least proud to say that he's been "one of the best combat trainees that [Proudfoot] has ever had the pleasure in teaching." Harry smiled at the memory. Soon his attention was caught by Malfoy at the other end of the infirmary. 

Malfoy, who'd been staring Harry realized, turned away. Katherine had just finished patching up the torn skin on Malfoy's forehead (Harry smirked at his own good aim) and he was now heading back out into the hallway. 

Not having much else to do so late at night and not really wanting to return home either, Harry followed him on the pretense that they should probably start the anti-paralysis potion that was due the following Monday. 

Harry hurried to catch up. At the end of the hallway Harry lost sight of him, before spotting the end of his cloak disappearing into one of the meeting rooms. Harry frowned and followed after him. He stopped mid-step to find Malfoy just outside of the Department Head's office, his hands deep in the pockets of his neat trousers. 

"You following me, Potter?" 

"No," Harry answered, too quickly. 

"No?" Malfoy asked and he eyed Harry mockingly, as if he could see right through Harry's lie. Harry pulled up his mental shield, but having been, well, shit at Occlumency, he didn't think it did any good. 

Harry cleared his throat. "I was wondering, actually, when you wanted to start the anti-paralysis potion for Williamson. It's due Monday." He motioned vaguely towards the hallway as if the walls were going to confirm the date of their assignment. Harry mentally cursed himself. 

"Already done." 

"What?" 

Malfoy heaved a great sigh and reached into the pocket of his robes. He lifted a hand and Harry watched as he placed a cigarette between his lips. He lit it and inhaled. 

"Already done," Malfoy repeated. 

"When? Why? We're suppose to work on it together," Harry protested. 

"On Tuesday. Because I can. And I thought I told you that I wouldn't make this any easier for you." Draco leaned against the secretary's desk in front of the office, leisurely working on his cigarette. 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep their conversation semi-civilized. But at this point, Harry didn't really care. "Whatever the fucking issue you have with me, we still need to finish training together," Harry spat. 

That seemed to stop Malfoy. But he collected himself and took the cigarette away from his lips. "Look, Potter. I get how all of that fame must have gone to that head of yours, but don't think for one second that the world really revolves around you. Because it doesn't--" 

"--I never said--" 

"--and if you think that _I_ have a 'fucking issue' with _you_ , then you are gravely mistaken." 

Harry wanted very much to say fuck off to Malfoy because all of the evidence seemed to be pointing to the contrary, but Malfoy was already halfway to the door. 

"Hey, we haven't finished--" Harry reached out without thinking. He grabbed Malfoy by the forearm and a great many things happened in succession: Malfoy hissed out in apparent pain, Harry snatched his hand away, his palm burning, Malfoy grabbed a hold of the front of Harry's shirt in anger, and Harry was alarmed to see Malfoy's body flitting in and out of view, as if wanting to disapparate but Malfoy was trying his hardest not to. The next moment Harry realized that Malfoy wasn't holding his shirt in anger, but as an anchor--to concentrate. Malfoy, having realized this, quickly let him go. He breathed heavily. 

"What the fuck just happened?" Harry asked. 

Though shaken, Malfoy tried his hardest to compose himself. For once, it didn't work. "Nothing. I'm leaving." 

"Wait--"Harry took a step forward and stopped. He dropped his hand, which had been reaching out again, and looked down. He lifted his foot. Malfoy's unfinished cigarette was smoking lightly as it died out. When he looked up again, Malfoy was gone. 

oOo

"You did what?!" Draco yelled. He was shaking with rage, sparks were emitting from his wand as he confronted his housemate. Draco had only just told Theodore about the possible headquarters location a few days ago. How was it that Blaise was now the location's Secret Keeper? Draco was livid. "Who the _fuck_ gave you the right?" 

Blaise stood up from his seat on the couch and went over to the cabinet at the far wall. He opened it, took out a dark blue glass bottle, and poured himself a glass. He lifted the small glass to his lips. "Drake, I really don't know why the fuck you're so angry. Why don't you calm the fuck down, and we'll talk about this. Like all civilized wizards do. Let me pour you a glass--" 

"Fuck you, Zabini. That wasn't your decision to make. We were all supposed to be there when the Secret Keeper was chosen." 

"Well we were sort of a little rushed once we nearly _disapparated_ to fuck knows where!" Blaise retorted. "And you shouldn't be angry, you fuckin twat. All it's doing is making you look more suspicious. Making me wonder about your motives." 

"Is it now?" Draco narrowed his eyes. He stepped closer. "And what exactly are my motives, according to you?" 

"Did you seriously think we would let you choose the location _and_ be its Secret Keeper? When you work for the fucking Ministry?" 

Draco tightened his hold on his wand. 

Blaise took another sip and continued, "They could easily take the truth from you." 

"I'd be fucked to let the Ministry take any sort of information from me at all," Draco's voice shook. 

"No. Don't think that I trust you. Don't think that I trust you're still on our side. That you've _ever_ been on our side. The others might believe you, Drake. But I know you better than anyone else. You're not doing this to get back at the Ministry." 

Draco rushed forward and pushed Blaise against the cabinet. The walls creaked, the glass shattered on the floor. Draco caught the sweet-acidic smell as the absinthe spread on the ground. "What the fuck would you know?" he hissed. 

Blaise smirked and pushed Draco away roughly. "You actually want this to work out, don't you? You really think you'll be forgiven?" Blaise let out a breath of mocking laughter. 

Draco's jaw tightened, trying hard to keep his composure. "No," he said. "You must not know me at all." 

oOo

_End Chapter Eight_


	9. Innocence of Sleep

_warnings: language, mild violence  
_

Draco was dreaming again. He was back at the manor, in the sun room, and he felt his stomach drop a few feet. His mother was there, sitting comfortably on the floor, looking as young and alive as Draco would often remember her. She was tending to her bellflowers which were apparently just coming into the season. 

"But, mum," a small voice said from behind Draco and he turned, his eyebrows rising when he saw who it was. A much younger version of himself was standing there, not much older than five, and clutching a new racing broom in his small hands. Realization came to him. He wasn't in a dream--he was in a memory. His memory. 

"No, Draco. How many times does mummy have to tell you 'no'?" Narcissa scolded. She picked up a small leaf clipper from the silver tray that Dobby was holding for her and clipped a leaf from one of the stems. It drifted quickly to the ground. 

Draco watched his child self tap his foot on the glass tiled floor impatiently, possibly wondering if asking one more time will finally convince his mother to let him out to ride his broom. Child-Draco looked up past the clear glass roof, frowning before pointing a finger to the sky. "It's not raining anymore, mummy, look." 

"Darling, what did your father tell you before he left for work?" Narcissa asked him, wiping a petal from a blue flower gently with a cloth. 

The answer came to Draco immediately, so ingrained as it was in his memory; the strong, commanding voice of his father reverberating in his ears. "Not until he has the time," he muttered under his breath. 

Child-Draco pouted, his lips sticking out impressively. But he seemed to be thinking it over, wondering possibly the next steps in his convincing tactics. Suddenly, Child-Draco scrunched up his face and it grew red with effort. Draco's eyes widened in alarm. He'd forgotten how often he would pretend to cry in order to get results. But if he'd known how nonsensical he looked while doing it, he would've never resorted to such childishness in the first place. Thankfully after about five seconds, Child-Draco gave up and let out a long drawn out sigh. 

"Not until he has the time," Child-Draco recited reluctantly. 

"That's right," Narcissa said. "Besides, Draco darling, there's a storm coming and I don't want you to catch a cold." 

"But it's not raining anymore!" 

"Enough," Narcissa chastised in the tone she would use only when she really meant it. "Instead, why don't you come sit with mummy and water the calla lilies, hm? How does that sound?" 

Child-Draco relented after a long thoughtful few seconds and had just taken a step to join his mother when another house elf popped into the sun room and bowed deeply. "Your ladyship, Madame's Nott, Greengrass, Carrow, and Parkingson await your presence in the main parlor." 

"Thank you, Rosy. Let them know that I will be with them shortly." 

"Of course, your ladyship," Rosy said and she bowed deeply once more before disappearing with a pop. 

"Draco, be an angel and go up to your room alright? Dobby will bring you dinner in the evening." She stood up and gracefully removed the white leather garden gloves that she'd been using, placing them on the silver tray that Dobby carried. She started towards the door that led back into the manor. When Child-Draco hadn't moved, she turned around and came back. "You be good for mummy, okay?" And she reached a hand down, just far enough to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear, before straightening again and leaving the room, Dobby following in her footsteps. 

Draco stood there along with his younger self, staring quietly at the door which their mother had just disappeared behind. He wondered if he'll see her again. Perhaps in another memory as vivid and real as the one he was reliving. Small hurried footsteps pulled him away from his thoughts. Child-Draco had opened another door-the one that lead out to the grounds--and was running across the endless lawn, past the marble fountain, to the open space that was his backyard. Draco went after him. It was bright outside, just an hour or two past noon maybe, but the air was crisp, the ground wet from earlier rain. Draco stopped in front of himself, watched as Child-Draco caught his breath and held out the broom in front of him. It'd been one of the newer models, built to fit his small size but just as fast as the regular racing brooms. He'd insisted he have it. Draco watched as the boy mounted his broom and next second he was in the air, growing steadily smaller and smaller as he ascended. 

Vaguely, Draco remembered how that moment felt. The first time on a broom. The first time being up so high. That fright and excitement blended into one. He remembered seeing the tops of the estate, the black tiles glistening in the sun. Higher until he could spot the hills in the distance, Higher, and the tops of the Wiltshire Forest, which bordered the Manor, could be seen; the trees seeming to go on forever. Endlessly. 

Draco eyed the forest, also remembering how his father would always warn him not to get too close, for all the evil things that roamed in the darkness, in the shadows of the trees, and he'd been all too happy to oblige. 

When Draco looked up again, his younger self had already lost control of the broom. Child-Draco's small shout of "Stop!" fell on deaf ears. The broom jerked sideways, and in his panic, he placed his small body low on the broom, and both boy and broom sped off in the direction of the forest. Draco merely watched, his smaller form a blur speeding at an alarming rate past the tops of the trees, before disappearing entirely. 

Above, and coming steadily closer, was a storm. His mother had been right, of course. 

In the next second, Draco found himself standing somewhere inside the forest. The ground was soft and wet beneath him, and it cushioned the violent crash of his child self as he fell to the forest floor, unmoving. Draco grimaced. The new broom lay destroyed a yard away. 

It took a few minutes. Twenty, maybe. And Child-Draco finally began to come back into consciousness, whimpering and making small noises of pain. He sat up, dirtied and bloody, and looked around. Draco did the same. They were lost, the both of them. Even now Draco wouldn't have been able to make his way out of there without some difficulty. But he figured he would have an easier time of it than his younger self, who had gotten up and started off in a random direction, crying and desperate for freedom. And light, Draco added to himself as he followed. Little of it reached the forest floor, and with evening coming closer, darkness would overcome them soon. They were in the deepest part of the woods, it seemed, and Draco could almost hear the frightened thoughts flitting in the boy's brain: he'd be in so much trouble. His father had specifically forbid him to enter the forest. Forbid him to ride his new broom, which he'd received only last week in celebration of his fifth birthday. And yet curiosity had gotten the better of him. As it always did. His father would be furious. No, even worse. He'd be disappointed. Child-Draco paused then, leaning his small form against a tree, his breathing irregular and panicked. Tears leaked through his frightened eyes. Draco knew what his younger self was thinking: how he'd rather stay in the dark forest, lost, because he knew of his father's temper. Knew how his father could instill fear in other people, other wizards. And most of all, he knew of the disappointment he would see in his father's face once he found out of his disobedience. Child-Draco glanced behind him, through Draco, towards the broken broom he'd left behind a while back. 

The forest had grown much darker; the evening now upon them. Both Draco's had taken a seat at the base of large tree. The younger was shivering and bruised and wounded and the elder was wondering whether the memory would reach its end. Draco glanced around once more, towards a break in the trees, squinting, but it had gotten too dark to see past a few yards in front of it. It'll be past dinner time, Draco mused as he cast a charm that would tell him the hour. Naturally, it didn't work. He turned his attention back to his small, shivering form. 

"Don't worry. It won't be long now," Draco assured him just as an ominous darkness cloaked around the both of them. A ground-shaking clap of thunder made Child-Draco cry out in alarm and fright. The clouds above opened and so soon were they soaked in icy rain, platinum blond hair drenched and sticking to their faces, washing away the dirt and blood that had long since dried. Oddly, or maybe not so much, Draco felt the droplets seep through his clothes, drawing a reluctant shiver from him as the drops reached his skin. His gaze returned to the break in the trees and he counted the seconds, the minutes, and then the hour that went slowly by. Ten minutes, more thunder, more rain, loud, frightening, cold. Twenty minutes and the rain fell impossibly harder. Child-Draco was plagued with violent tremors, shivering madly as his arms grasped around his small form. The break in the trees remained dark. Thirty minutes and the tremors had died down. Forty minutes and the shivering had all but stopped. Child-Draco's eyes were only half open. The rain still fell around them. The thunder still reverberated in their ears. Pockets of water had formed on the ground and their clothes were caked in mud. Fifty minutes and Child-Draco sat limp at the base of the tree, water running continuously down his face and neck and shoulder, his lips moving, mumbling incoherently before quite suddenly making a loud noise of blurred recognition. 

Draco stood up so quickly, his feet sinking in the softened earth, threatening his balance. His heart was pounding frantically in his chest as he stared at the break in the trees. His voice was caught in his throat, his words lost, though he was sure nothing he said would reach the people in his memories. Still. He grew still. There, coming closer, fast, hurried, was Draco's father. Lucius was rushing forward and stopped just a few yards away, his wand illuminating the surroundings, his wand illuminating the long platinum locks that were drenched around his shoulders. Draco's body felt frozen in place. He wished to move. Wished to step just a little closer. To memorize the shock, the deep worry that was etched on his father's young face. The unbridled fear that passed in those gray eyes as he drank in the small, vulnerable form on the ground at the base of the tree. Draco swallowed with so much difficulty, his mind, his chest buzzing with an emotion he hadn't felt in so long. 

Lucius hurried over to his son, swiping the long strands of hair away from his face before bending down in front of the boy. 

"Papa...I'm s-sorry." 

"I'm here," came the clear whisper. 

"Papa, my broom..." 

"Don't worry, Draco. Papa's here...Papa's here." 

Draco bit his lip. Bit it hard to stop the hateful burning in his eyes. Lucius picked up his son. Gently tucked him under his cloak. Held him close. Softly shushing the boy's hazy apologies. And Draco tried to follow them, reaching a hand out to stop them from leaving the range of his memory. Pushing past the barrier of his consciousness. _Just let me reach_...But then they passed the break in the trees and the darkness swallowed their forms. 

When Draco awoke he was shivering, shaking, and a sob broke away from his throat. The sound shocked him and reached a hand to his mouth, wincing at the pain that he felt on his lip, which was bleeding. The dream had been so vivid. The memory so striking. He stared at the ceiling in his darkened room for so long, blurred from the tears that clung at the corners of his eyes, as if the blank walls, as if the darkness that surrounded him would give him the answers he was looking for. 

oOo

Level Twelve of the Ministry of Magic had become a place of solace for Harry during the first weekend of October. When he wasn't in training, or working on assignments for his mentors, he was here. And it was here that he found himself on Tuesday evening, flying casually around the Ministry's Quidditch pitch and mulling over once again the scene of last Thursday when he'd grabbed Malfoy's arm. He just couldn't figure out what had happened, and what he did figure was just too ridiculous to even consider. 

Harry began to fly a little faster on his new firebolt. "New" because his old one had been lost during the battle over Little Whinging, and he'd decided to splurge a bit a year later in order to find himself a new one. 

Harry knew, as he recalled the way he'd placed his hand over Malfoy's arm, that he hadn't grabbed hard enough to cause any pain. So it must have been the Dark Mark that had bothered him, right? Harry glanced down at the palm of his hand where he'd been burned after the touch. What else could it have been? He placed his hand back on the handle of his broom after finding nothing of consequence. Were there still lingering pains even after Voldemort's death? Possibly. He honestly wasn't familiar with the workings of binding marks. Let alone dark ones aside from the scar on his forehead. But that hadn't bothered him for a few years now. And Malfoy seemed alright during Poisons the day before. And there was nothing out of character this morning during Concealment, either. He frowned, deciding that maybe he would do a bit of research on the subject of marks when he had the time. 

Harry spotted the snitch he'd released earlier, wandering innocently near the bottom of the east goal posts. Without so much as a second of hesitation, he dived, feeling the blissful rush of excitement bubble in his chest, the rush in his stomach from the sudden drop, faster and faster until his surrounding had become a blur. His hand reached ahead of him, his fingers stretched forward, and the snitch, as if sensing its coming entrapment, bolted past him. But it was futile. His seeker instincts were still intact; he grasped, closing his fingers, and he felt the golden metal wings flutter nostalgically under his palm. He pulled up, his teeth clenched as he forced his firebolt away from the ground with all his strength. He slowed down, breathing hard, and eyes the small snitch in his hand. "Got you." He smiled and let it go again. 

The sound of applause near the entrance of the pitch met his ears. He turned towards it. 

"Amazing dive, Harry! Amazing as always," Oliver Wood beamed at him. 

Harry reddened, not having been aware that anyone had been watching. He flew closer and swiftly dropped off the broom, placing it casually over his shoulder. "Thanks," he said, walking over to him with a smile. "Didn't realize you were standing there." 

"I just walked in," Oliver said. "You know, I always hoped you'd take up a career in Quidditch. Puddlemere would've loved you." 

"No, they wouldn't have," Harry said modestly, reaching a hand up to ruffle the back of his hair. 

"I would've in any case." 

Harry laughed and switched his firebolt to his other shoulder. "I'm flattered." 

"You should be. I wasn't a bad Keeper myself." Oliver flashed him a smile and a wink. 

"I'd say you were decent." Harry shrugged nonchalantly, and Oliver sent a few painless spells in his direction. "Joking, joking!" Harry dodged them easily, laughing. "You could've taken an eye out!" 

"You'd deserve it," Oliver said. He eyed Harry for a few seconds, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

Feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. Harry looked away. 

"Anyway, Harry. It's nearing mid-October; you should try out for Intermural Quidditch." 

"Intermural?" 

"Yeah, some of the Departments have put some teams together so we can have a causal game every once in a while. Creates a nice competitive atmosphere and great for inter-office networking. It's not often that we can meet up, since work gets in the way half the time. But it's good to get away from the office sometimes." 

Harry pondered for a bit, feeling very tempted to agree to it since he hadn't had a good game in years. Then again, he'd have a lot on his plate including training, his uncontrolled magic, and now the mystery of Malfoy' Dark Mark. Not to mention he was feeling very stressed about working with two people that seem to hate the very presence of him. Maybe this was a good idea. To get away from his troubles for a while. 

As if reading his mind, Oliver spoke, "Tell you what, Harry. We'll sign you up as reserve seeker. That way you can still focus on your training and when that gets too stressful, we'll come up here for a game. Loosen up. If anything, you can just come watch me play." 

Harry grinned. "That sounds great. I'll keep that in mind." 

"Great! Care to join me for a round?" Oliver motioned towards the center of the pitch. 

Harry glanced up at the clock above the exit doors. It read half past eight in the evening. "Sorry, Oliver. I've got a potion for Williamson--" 

"Say no more. I'll see you on Saturday for defense, Harry." Oliver left towards the locker rooms with a final lingering smile for Harry. 

oOo

A glance at the clock above the potion's lab door read about half past eight in the evening. Draco placed the notes he'd been studying back on the table and went over to the ingredients cabinet. He took a small wooden box of cobra tails and a medium sized mortar and pestle, and walked back over to his cauldron, placing his supplies on the table. He lifted the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt and folded them up to his elbows so as to not get any spots on them, and began the process of crushing the Indian cobra tails into a fine powder. If all went well, as Draco was sure things would, in a few hours he will be finished with Williamson's assignment for the following Monday. He inspected the contents of his cauldron and nodded in approval as the concoction had turned the required shade of blue. He resumed his crushing. 

After a few minutes, his mind had drifted. Not so much that he wasn't paying attention to his ingredients, but enough that he would pause mid-crushing as the thought over the dream of last Thursday, the memory of when he'd nearly died in the forest all those years ago. When was the last time that his father had looked at him with such concern? When had it all changed? First year? Second year? Fourth? Draco refocused his attention on his tails, which were only partially crushed. There was little doubt that the resurgence of the Dark Lord's regime had changed everything. The lives of his family thrown off course. But things would go back to how they once were. Maybe not entirely. 

No. Not entirely. But maybe...maybe soon. 

Voices floated in front the infirmary just on the other side of the door. 

"I see Oliver's recruited you into his team," Katherine was saying to someone. 

"Yeah, he can be convincing when her really wants something," none other than Harry Potter's amused voice floated towards him in response. 

"Ah, yes. I've been at the receiving end of _that_ every single time he brings in a Ministry personnel with an injury stemming from a new Quidditch maneuver they weren't supposed to be trying in the first place." 

Potter laughed. "Good thing I've a bit more practice than the rest of them. You won't be seeing much of me in the way of Quidditch-related injuries, I assure you." 

Draco scoffed. Right, because you weren't in the hospital wing dying after half the matches you ever played at Hogwarts? 

"So what brings you in today, Harry? I won't allow you to take anymore Dreamless until next month--" 

"No, I'm not here for that...in fact, I came to meet Malfoy. We've got a potion for Williamson that needs tending to," Potter said and Draco stood up a little straighter. How does he know I've started it already? 

"Oh, good. Draco's been working hard on restocking the infirmary's medicine in addition to his training. I'm sure he can use all the help he can get." 

There was a pause. "Great." Another pause. "I guess I'll go in then." 

Draco placed his pestle on the table hastily and looked around his adopted potions lab, possibly looking for an escape route. Potter's footsteps approached. Draco thought of vanishing the potion, the evidence, but that would be such a waste of ingredients. The door opened slowly and he sat himself down quickly on the stool in front, casual-like, one knee over the other, his nose buried in his notes. 

"Thought I'd find you here," Potter said as the door shut behind him with a click. 

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Draco said without looking up. He heard Potter come closer, standing in front of him with the table and cauldron in between them. 

"We're supposed to be working together remember? Partners?" 

"No need. I'm nearly finished." 

"I can help." 

"I won't be turning in any substandard work just so you can _help_. So don't worry yourself." 

There was a bit of shuffling and Draco looked curiously over his notes. Potter had placed his Firebolt propped beside the door and was slipping off his cloak, his v-neck slightly askew before he fixed it back into place. He came back and peeked over the side of the cauldron. 

"The Baneberry poison is almost done, isn't it?" Potter asked. 

"Did I not just say--?" 

"When did you pour in the goat's blood?" Potter rudely interrupted. "It seems about ready to take in the crushed cobra tails." Potter then spotted the half-finished crushed tails on the table and he scooted the mortar and pestle towards him, grabbing another stool and sitting on it before beginning his task. Draco watched him, wondering when Potter had gotten such nerve. _Gryffindors_. Potter was driving the pestle down, the muscles on his right arm flexing, not bothering to take another look at Draco. Draco's lips thinned and he placed his notes back on the table. 

"You have a hearing problem, Potter, do you know that?" Draco said gravely. 

Potter glanced up with a smirk. "It only affects me when you're around," he said, going back to his grinding. "There. Done." He placed the pestle back on the table; he reached into the waistband of his jeans and took out his wand, waving it so that the powedered tails drifted in a measured amount into the cauldron that sat between them. 

Draco watched with a careful eye, searching for any mistakes. Finding none, he scowled and they both watched as the powder sizzled and blended in with the other ingredients. The contents were now a dark indigo. The perfect shade. 

Then Potter grinned at him expectantly as if waiting for some sort of praise for this monumental achievement. After a moment the face changed into one of question and Draco realized he'd been staring at Potter's mouth. 

Far more embarrassed than a Malfoy should ever be, he turned away, sliding gracefully off of his stool and walking over to the far cabinet where all the magically chilled ingredients were kept. He summoned his elbow-length dragon hide gloves, slipped them on and opened the cabinet door. A cool mist filled the room and he reached inside to grab a vial of fermented Baneberries before the door clicked closed again. He came back over to the table. 

"You mind if I...?" Potter was reaching out to take the vial from his hand. 

" _Potter_ , do you know what would happen if even a drop of fermented Baneberries were to touch your uncovered skin? It would burn. It would eat through your muscles before you even had a chance to register the pain. Honestly, I don't even know how you passed your N.E.W.T.'s without assistance." 

"It was an honest mistake, for Merlin's..." Potter muttered under his breath as he waved his wand to summon a pair of gloves. But there were only one pair of dragon hide gloves in the potion's lab and after an impatient clench of his teeth, Draco allowed the vial to levitate in the air before taking off his gloves and tossing them at the other man. The glove hit Potter's chest and fell to the floor. 

"Your seeker reflexes have dwindled drastically it seems..." 

Potter wasn't looking at his face though, but down at his forearm. With a small jolt of panic, Draco realized he hadn't pulled his sleeves down and his Dark Mark was left out in the open, visible and prominent on his light skin. It wasn't in pain at the moment, but there was a dull ache, constant enough that he forgot the feeling was even there sometimes. Biting down his rising panic, he unfurled his sleeves, pulled them down as far as they went, and buttoned them at the wrists. 

Potter opened his mouth to say something and Draco was bracing himself for the questions, the insults, the accusations, but then his mouth closed again, the burning curiosity not having left his gaze, before Potter bent down to pick up the fallen gloves. Draco would've sighed in relief when Potter disappeared in front of the table. Instead, he stepped closer to the cauldron as Potter reappeared and came around to his side. Then he reached up to grab the vial with his now gloved hands. 

"How many drops?" Potter asked quietly after a very awkward, very tense few seconds. 

"Seven. Two drops first, three stirs counter-clockwise; three drops second, two stirs clockwise; two drops again, and..." Draco leaned slightly over Potter to check his notes, "Two stirs counter-clockwise." 

"Okay," Potter said as he moved closer to the cauldron. He unstoppered the vial, angled it, and carefully dropped the first drops into the mix. "God, that smells awful." With his free hand he raised his wand and stirred the contents counter-clockwise. He raised the vial once more and dropped the required amount. Potter was biting his lip in concentration, steadying his hand as he finished the final steps. Draco felt his breath catch in his throat as he eyes a small pink tongue moistening its owner's lips. A stray thought worked its way into his memory. The feeling of those soft lips through his haze of near drowning...the warmth that had spread to his own mouth, limbs. 

"How many--?" Potter began. 

"Two stirs. Counter-clockwise." And Draco was horrified at how breathy his voice sounded. 

Potter turned his head slightly to catch his eyes, a mixture of curiosity, suspicion, and something else. And for just a fraction of a moment, time slowed and it was just the two of them, knowing nothing about what exactly was going on, but neither pulling away, before the cauldron began to sizzle dangerously and their moment was broken. 

"Potter, I said two stirs not five!" Draco growled as the boiling liquid threatened to overflow. 

"I didn't--! I...you distracted me!" Potter accused. 

"Don't you dare blame this on me, Scarhead," Draco said as he took out his wand to try and stop the cauldron overheating. "You're the one who bloody wanted to help me when I was doing perfectly fine without your input!" 

"Excuse me, _Ferret_ , you know just as well as I that we should be working on our training together! If you would just come down off of your high pedestal then we wouldn't be having this fucking problem!" Harry shot back, eyeing the cauldron, which was definitely not cooling off. "And for what it's worth, I actually _would_ like to pass Auror training with high marks--" 

"Calm the fuck down, you're agitating the potion with all your _uncontrolled_ , mad magic!" 

Potter flushed. "Well, stop yelling at me!" 

"I am not!" 

"You are! You're yelling at me right now, you inconsiderate--!" 

"Potter, look out!" Draco yanked the other man's body away from the cauldron, behind him, just as it exploded with a force that would've flung them into the walls. As it was, he'd conjured his shield just in time, covering his and Potter's body safely from the botched Baneberry Poison. Pieces of the cauldron crashed into the cabinets, breaking them, destroying precious ingredients in the aftermath. When everything had settled, the room was sizzling with remaining heat and spilled poison. Draco let out a breath he'd been holding, and quickly vanished the remaining liquid, regretting the loss of so many ingredients. 

" _Fuck_ ," Potter's pained voice sounded from behind him. 

Draco was just about to curse the man for his stupidity, but he blanched at the sight that met him. Potter must've fallen over when Draco pulled him away, but in his haste to save the bloody man, he hadn't noticed that the vial of fermented baneberries, which Potter had still been holding, was unsealed, causing its contents to spill all over Harry's left shoulder. It had burned through his shirt, through the top layers of skin, the gruesome wound cascading down his front. The vial lay empty on the ground. "Holy fucking _shit_ ," Potter hissed as he sat up, or tried to at least. He was bent awkwardly, trying not to move unnecessarily. 

"Lie still." Draco hurried to the back, yanked open one of the warded cases which held the more precious ingredients, and took two items from it before moving back to Potter who was now shaking with the pain. His breath was coming out in gasps. Draco brought his wand quickly over Potter's chest, magically tearing what remained of his shirt so that it exposed his front. He tried not to grimace at the sight where the poison had eaten away further layers of skin, reaching muscle. He slid the dragon-hide gloves away from Potter's hands and threw them on the floor. 

"Open up, Potter," Draco said urgently, reaching up and tugging at the man's chin. 

"Wh-what is that?" Potter eyes the plant in Draco's hand with distrust. 

"Dittany. Open up for Merlin's sake," Draco noted the sweat on Potter's forehead, the paling of his skin, though the left side of his upper body was flush with pain and blood. Draco folded the plant quickly into bite size and inserted it into the other man's mouth. "Chew. It'll act as a pain reducer. Don't faint on me, Potter. Don't be so dramatic," he said, though both his voice and hands were shaking as he unstoppered his fresh vial of Essence of Dittany. "Swallow," he instructed, waiting for Potter to obey before he began administering the medicine. 

Even through the other man's pain Draco noticed the flash of annoyance. Nonetheless the plant was swallowed and Potter let out a shaky breath. Carefully, Draco moved closer, reaching out to hold the other man still, his hand resting on the undamaged side of Potter's neck. There was a sharp intake of breath and it took a moment for him to realize that he'd made the sound himself. His hand was tingling as it lay over Potter's skin. Draco could almost feel the thrumming, the hum of Potter's magic, powerful and overwhelming. When Draco looked up, Potter had closed his eyes tightly, although he was certain that it was from the pain and not from the tingling going on in his neck region. When Potter let out a small groan of pain, Draco moved swiftly, letting a few drops fall on the deepest part of his wound where a worrying amount of muscle had been damaged. Slowly he dropped a few more in the more shallow areas: on his neck, on his upper arm, on the top of his chest, and on the left side of his face, where the poison had somehow managed to reach, before coming back around and doing the process all over again. Draco had drawn closer; Potter hadn't opened his eyes. His breathing was heavy, caressing Draco's cheek with soft, warm breath. Then Potter jerked as the most sensitive area stitched itself back together and Draco could see the other man's jaw clench as if he was refraining from letting out anymore sounds of pain. "Nearly done," Draco assured him, not really knowing why he felt the need to, and generously applied more Essence until he was satisfied that every part had been tended to. Slowly, new skin was appearing over the damaged areas, the large wound now looking days old, but still very raw and tender. He pulled away and Potter let out a long breath. 

"You weren't lying about the burn," Potter said shakily after a moment, reaching a hand up to his neck where Draco's hand had been, before moving it to the top of his left arm. He tried to raise it, as if testing its movement, and winced. 

"Of course I wasn't," Draco replied, stoppering the vial with a still-buzzing hand, and slipping it in his pocket. They both stood up, one with a little more difficulty than the other. They eyed their surroundings, but Draco felt that it was more in order to avoid each other's gazes, which _he_ was most definitely doing. He balled his hand into a fist and the buzzing was still there, as though Potter's magic had seeped through the skin and into Draco's veins. An involuntary shudder ran through him though thankfully it went unnoticed. 

Most of the cabinets, excluding the ones magically warded, were destroyed. Various ingredients were strewn about; Draco would be lucky if half of them survived. He sighed and stepped forward, waiving his wand to repair the broken furniture and placing all the salvageable ingredients back in their correct spots. He banished the rest away. 

"Go on then," Potter's voice reached his ears. 

Draco wondered at the hint of nervousness in the other man's voice. He turned around to face him. "What?" 

"Have a go. I know you want to yell at me for ruining the potion." 

"You didn't just ruin the potion, Potter. You destroyed half my potion's lab," Draco said, gathering the singed notes so he wouldn't focus on the bite that was completely absent in his own voice. He shrunk his notes and placed them safely in his pocket before reaching for his cloak and shrugging it on. "You're complete shit at Potions, you know that?" 

Potter laughed. "Good thing I have you to help me through it then." 

Draco scowled and made his way to the exit. He heard Potter scramble after him. 

\------------------- 

It was nearing midnight when he and Malfoy stepped out of the potion's lab and into the infirmary. The windows on the east side were dark, and the large room was quiet and empty. 

Harry had forgone his shirt and cloak--it would be too painful on his freshly healed burn, not to mention his shirt had been torn beyond repair when Malfoy was administering to him--and held them in his hand. His firebolt had been resized and placed in his pocket for safe-keeping. His shoulder was still throbbing painfully and he was sure he was going to have a hard time during his training in the following days, but the feeling was dull in comparison to the pulsating magic that he felt just under his skin. His neck was sensitive, everything was sensitive after Malfoy's bloody unnecessary touching and he figured he should get home soon because his magic was overwhelming and breaking through. 

As it was, he'd had a difficult time controlling himself once Malfoy had placed his hand on Harry's neck and though he'd tried to draw himself back, he couldn't help the trembling of both pain and power that surged through him at the contact. What's more, he was sure that Malfoy had felt it too, though he'd been too preoccupied at the time to fully grasp the blonde's reaction. Harry was certain now that something had happened between his magical core and that of Draco Malfoy. The 'when' and 'why' and 'what now?' remained a mystery to Harry, and the thought of that gave him no easy feeling. 

Katherine came out of her office then and started at the sight of them. "Oh, my. What happened here?" she said, frowning at Harry's state of dress. 

Harry glanced down at his bare chest and shoulder. It was still red and Harry was feeling a bit feverish. He looked up again and was taken by a wave of vertigo but he fought through it in case Katherine decided to keep him in the infirmary for the night. "Erm...well, you see..." 

"Unfortunately, we had a small incident and didn't get anything done," Malfoy said, looking irritably at Harry, though there was a hint of alarm when Harry swayed on the spot. Malfoy took out a spare bit of parchment from his onyx cloak, waved his wand, and handed it to Katherine. "Would you mind restocking these ingredients for me, Katherine?" 

"Why yes, of-of course," she said as she eyed Harry, but her curiosity over the ingredients won over. "Did you run out of them already?" 

Harry looked away from the cold gaze he was sure Malfoy was throwing his way. 

"As I've said, we had a small incident. Thank you, Katherine, it's much appreciated," Malfoy gave her another one of his rare smiles and waited for Katherine to start walking back to her office. 

She turned back to search Harry again and Harry gave a little wave before she disappeared behind her door. He brought his hand down. He was definitely feeling heated now, his magic swirling in agitation, wanting a way out but Harry fought it down. Malfoy was already out in the hall and he followed. 

They walked in silence down the corridor, turning at a corner to where the Auror offices began. Auror Headquarters, it seemed, was busy considering it was the middle of the night. Unfortunately for Harry, they passed a few of their instructors, each questioning him about his appearance and each, in turn, being answered by Malfoy since Harry was working very hard on not passing out from the effort of staying in control. They rounded another corner, mostly deserted, where the Auror study rooms were located, and at the end of which would be an exit to one of the lifts that he needed to get out of there. Before they could reach the end, a door to one of the studies opened in front of them and Ron appeared, reading from a wrinkled length of parchment Harry could only assume were notes. Then he spotted them. He stopped. Harry stopped. Malfoy did too when he noticed that Harry had stopped walking. The seconds ticked by and Harry swallowed, words and magic stuck in his throat. Should he greet him? Should he apologize? A bitter, hazy part in Harry's mind said not to; that it's not Harry's fault that Ron wasn't speaking to him. But they hadn't spoken in about three weeks now and Harry was starting to worry that they would never speak again. The thought saddened him, and a fresh wave of heat ran through his body. 

Ron was glancing down at Harry's bare chest, then at the shoulder which probably still looked inflamed, if not the rest of him, and then looked back at his face. He seemed as though he were about to say something, maybe to comment on his appearance; maybe he was worried that Harry had gotten into trouble once more. And with a flare of hope Harry waited, because it seemed that his state would finally get them on speaking terms again, but then Ron closed his mouth, blinking away. Harry's heart sank, and he held back as a frightening amount of magic surged through his arms and to the base of his fingertips. He clenched his teeth, but he wanted nothing more than to jump on him, throw him a fist or a curse or _something_ for making him feel as though the past nine years had meant nothing to him. Ron, sensing nothing out of the ordinary, stepped around him. 

"Ron--" Harry started, pausing when he felt his voice shake. Ron honored him with a small glance. Harry didn't know what else to say. He was torn, stubborn, and lightheaded and he didn't want to be the first to apologize. He bit through his cheek. Another moment and Ron looked away. 

"Malfoy's waiting for you," Ron said, his voice accusing. 

Harry swung his head around. Malfoy stood there, watching him carefully with eyes like cold silver. When Harry turned away from them, Ron was already walking away, disappearing onto the main corridor. 

"Potter..." 

The voice came slowly to him. Harry was shaking, his hands balled into fists, his cloak clenched tightly in his fingers. He shook his head. He couldn't talk. He needed to calm down. Harry closed his eyes, taking shallow breaths, but it didn't work. He shook his head again, trying to clear his fogged brain. 

"Never quite understood why you held by Weasley for so long." 

Harry snapped, a whirlwind of magic bursting from his chest, his hands, rushing towards Malfoy who stood only a few feet away. 

_No!_ With a great force Harry managed to redirect its course, barely missing the blonde by an inch. 

Harry prepared himself to disapparate before he lost control again. Malfoy seemed to realize what he was doing, for he rushed forward, reaching out and Harry heard the words, "Potter, you shouldn't--!" before he was swallowed into the air. With panicked realization, Harry felt something holding onto his wrist. His mind was muddled; he probably should've thought of his destination beforehand. Flashes of scenery danced before him, blurring into an incongruous mass of images: the Burrow, the Leaky Cauldron, a disturbingly familiar manor, a dark forest bordering green hills, a tall gray building, and finally Harry felt himself slam upon a cold, hard, wooden floor before his vision went dark. 

oOo

How long had it been since a Malfoy had last stepped into the House of Black? Draco wondered as he walked cautiously back into what he assumed was the main sitting room. Potter still hadn't woken up yet. He lay on the sofa where Draco had placed him an hour ago, unmoving, but breathing steady now that his magic had calmed down a bit. Draco sat neatly in one of the worn armchairs and lit himself a cigarette. He inhaled, and closed his eyes when he felt the tingling, calming sensation reach the tips of his fingers. Although it was possible that the tingling was coming not from his muggle contrivance but from the influx of magic that had come during Potter's apparition. Bloody wanker hadn't even called upon his destination; they could've ended up anywhere in the world! Draco exhaled. But to go about disapparating when he was _that_ out of sync with his magic...They both could've bloody well _died_ at that point. Potter stirred in front of him and Draco opened his eyes, fixing a cold glare on his face. 

It seemed to take a moment for Potter to realize where he was, and another moment for him to notice that there was someone else in the room with him. With surprising speed, what with him just having awoken from a fainting spell, he directed his wand at Draco, who did nothing but sit there, his cigarette held loose between his fingers. 

" _Tosser_ ," was the first word from Potter's mouth. 

Draco raised an affronted eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?" 

Potter lowered his wand, gave him a once-over, gathered that there was nothing out of character and repeated, "Tosser. Why the hell would you grab on to me when I was already disapparating? You could've been splinched! I thought I was going to have to pry your cold, lifeless, _splinched_ hand from my arm!" He motioned to his arm where he imagined Draco's splinched hand to be. Then he sat up with a fair amount of difficulty and grimaced in apparent pain. "Fuck me..." 

Draco took in a deep breath and banished the cigarette. "You shouldn't move around too much. You did a bit of damage to your wound when you disapparated." 

Potter glanced down at his shoulder. 

"I took the liberty in applying a few more drops of Dittany to it while you were out," Draco said. 

Potter nodded and muttered something that sounded like a 'thanks' and tucked his legs under him so that he was sitting cross-legged. He reached a hand to his hair, ruffling it and making him look as though he'd just gotten out of bed. Draco looked away. 

"So when do you reckon we should start on the potion again?" Harry asked after a minute of silence. 

Malfoy held back an obvious glare. "I never should've let you help me with it in the first place. What makes you think I'd like to relive the disastrous events of today?" 

"We still need to finish this--" 

"Together. Yeah, yeah, Potter. You say that enough sodding times." 

Potter shrugged, a guilty smile playing on his lips. "It's true." 

Draco shook his head at him and the silence surrounded them once more. "I-I was waiting for you to wake up," Draco said by way of explanation, and stood. Potter was looking up at him expectantly. Draco cursed himself for not knowing what to do with his hands. He settled for placing them in his pockets. Then Potter seemed to understand. 

"You aren't heading home, are you?" Potter asked. It was the way he asked that made Draco hesitate. 

_What, you want me to stay?_

"It's late..." Draco responded and wanted to roll his eyes, feeling as though he was making excuses not to stay with Potter. It's not like he had anything to look forward to if he went back to his flat. 

Potter nodded though, and Draco would kill to say that Potter didn't look a bit disheartened. 

Draco walked around the coffee table and extended his hand. "Take it. It'll help with the scarring." 

Potter eyed the vial in Draco's hand. "No, the infirmary probably needs it for more important things. I've used enough of it already, it's almost gone." 

"Take it, Potter. Merlin knows you've enough scars already." 

Potter glanced down at his scar-littered chest, which Draco had gotten a good eye-full of earlier, and reddened. He took the vial. 

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Potter asked. 

Draco could only nod and started his way towards the front door. When his hand reached the door knob, Potter's voice drifted towards him again, "See you, then." 

oOo

_End Chapter Nine_


	10. Exit Wounds

_**Warnings** : language, violence, abuse, m/m mature content, dark topics; **trigger warning for the non-consensual/assault towards the end of this chapter.**_

oOo

Draco was reluctant to admit to this, but Potter's resilience was astounding. 

It was Friday afternoon in the training room and they'd started their offensive-combat training a few hours prior. On the agenda, Auror Savage was teaching them how to effectively dodge and cast a spell simultaneously, and it was proving to be a lot more difficult than Draco had initially anticipated. None in his cohort had attempted the maneuver and been successful at it, although Potter was getting pretty close. 

That being said, Draco knew that Potter wasn't faring well, however much his skills in the training room seemed to be saying otherwise. It was hot in there, and sticky. They had all opted to shed their cloaks in an effort to keep cool, but it wasn't helping. It also wasn't helping Potter none that his shoulder wound was still healing, and judging by the grimace etched on the man's face, the wound had become inflamed. Of course, it wasn't slowing the man down; he threw himself at every opportunity to prove himself, and the result? A very irritated Draco because, at the rate he's going, Draco's small stock of Essence of Dittany would run out, and Potter would be left with another horrible, well-deserved scar. 

Draco pulled himself away from his Dark thoughts, twirling his wand through his fingers as he watched the following scene unfold. The newly established Aurors from the previous year had joined them for practice, providing the four of them--Draco, Potter, Thomas, and Weasley--with some fresh faces to train with. Up next at the front of the class was Potter and Weasley and though normally Draco would've been thrilled to see what would happened between them, there was no way in knowing how Potter would react to another confrontation with Weasley. Potter's magic seemed to be so in sync with his bloody emotions that practically anything could set him off. And remembering the events of last Tuesday; there was a great chance of it happening again. 

The training room had gathered; a small, sweaty audience had formed to watch. Savage was adjusting their positions: Potter would be the one running adjacent to Weasley's location, after which Weasley would direct his spell at Potter, who would then try to dodge and cast in retaliation. Simple, really. 

"On my count," Savage drawled. "Three, two..." He sent a spark of red in the air to indicate 'one.' 

Potter sprinted off, his black shirt, which always seemed to be a size too big for him, flapping around his torso. Weasley raised his wand and directed a stunner at him. Potter ducked and raised his shield in reflex. 

"No, Potter! Shields are not allowed during my lessons. Do it again!" Savage shouted, massaging his temples. 

Draco distinctly heard the mumbled words, "It was instinctual," as Potter walked back to the starting point, wiping away sweat from his forehead. The raven-haired man got into position once again and nodded. 

"Three, two..." Another shower of red sparks. 

Potter took off again, his rapid footsteps echoing throughout the room. His shirt whipped around his body. Weasley sent another stunner in his direction. This time Potter used his momentum to slide forward, casting his own stunner back at Weasley. Unfortunately for Potter, he slid too late and Weasley's stunner hit him on the side of the torso. Potter was flung sideways and tumbled across the hard ground. Draco let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. That hadn't looked too good; Potter had landed on his shoulder. 

"Wrong again, Potter! Keep your eyes on the wand hand. It'll tell you everything! Do it again!" 

Draco stopped himself from blurting out something he'd regret. Couldn't he see how injured Potter was? 

Potter grimaced as he collected himself off of the ground and walked back to the starting point. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles white on the hold of his wand. 

Savage didn't bother counting down. The red sparks were thrown up and Potter dashed off. His steps where altered as if he were trying hard not to limp. Weasley sent his stunner for the third time. Potter slid, sending his own spell back and successfully avoiding the attack. Weasley dodged, too, and sent off a disarming spell. Potter, having been caught by surprise, only just managed to dodge away from the spells trajectory. He visibly bristled and turned back to Weasley, raising his wand. 

Draco could feel it, small at first but growing steadily stronger: Potter's magic, agitated and frenzied. Draco tensed. The former friends were now battling without restraint. Draco thought of stepping in, to save Potter's idiotic arse. It would only be a matter of time before the other's found out about Potter's uncontrolled magic. Did he really want to be kicked out of the program? 

"Enough!" Savages command did nothing to stop them. 

Potter, even in his injured state, somehow gained the upper hand. He disarmed Weasley, the wand flying out of the blood-traitors hand. But Potter didn't stop there. He sent a warning spell near Weasley's feet, making him step back. Weasley looked outraged. Potter sent another one, and another one, ignoring Savage's commands to stop. 

Draco had just taken a step forward, but Savage acted first. Potter's wand came flying out of his hand and he turned furiously to see who had cast it away. 

"Potter, what the hell is the matter with you!" Savage demanded. 

Potter's lips thinned, his eyebrows furrowed in deep frustration. 

"I expected better from you, Potter. Do not come back to my lessons until you're ready to train properly. You're dismissed. Same goes for you, Weasley. Get out of my sight." 

Potter opened his mouth as if to say something, but he shut it closed. Draco could just make out the shaking in his shoulders. The top of his black shirt was damp and Draco had the suspicion that it wasn't all sweat. Potter went to pick up his wand and left the room. Weasley followed soon after. 

"Malfoy, you're up!" Savage barked. 

Draco didn't care that he was admitting it--but he was worried. Just as he came to the conclusion that he'd much rather check to see if Harry was alright, he got into position. The red sparks went up. 

oOo 

"Heard what happened yesterday," Oliver said to Harry the following day. He moved Harry's wand arm to a proper defense position, his hands lingering to steady him. 

"Did you?" Harry sighed. It hadn't been his proudest moment, he had to admit. But what could he do about it now? He'd lost control of himself and he reflected on how often that seemed to be happening. He really needed to get a hold of his magic and soon. He gnawed on his lip for a second before saying, "Got carried away, I suppose." 

Oliver nodded in sympathy and moved away. Malfoy was standing a few yards in front, facing Harry. Their task for the day was simple. Partners would be battling against each other (on orders, this time). One of them would be acting in offense and the other defensively, all the while incorporating the defense techniques that Oliver had been teaching them over the last few weeks. It was Harry's turn to be defense. Ron and Dean, whom Harry was carefully avoiding contact with, were doing the same thing at the opposite end of the room. 

"Are you ready, Scarhead?" Malfoy asked him, an eyebrow cocked in challenge. Harry fought his urge to smirk. They'd been teasing each other with names all afternoon and though Harry knew that it bordered on immaturity (and some level of weirdness since it all lacked the usual venom), he was enjoying every second of it. After all, he hadn't anyone else to joke around with for the past month. So Harry found himself telling the quiet voice of his conscience to kindly 'fuck off.' 

"I'm always ready, Ferr--" Harry flung his shield up just in time for Malfoy's powerful Reducto curse. Instead of getting angry for that foul move, Harry grinned and let out a laugh. "You've got to try harder then that." 

Malfoy's lips twitched upwards and he obliged, sending another Reducto and an Expelliarmus in his direction. Not having time to marvel at Malfoy's speed, Harry raised his shield and followed it with a modified version of a rebound spell; it would have worked in his favor if Malfoy hadn't been expecting it and offered his own reflection spell as a counter. Harry managed to dissipate it mid-way. 

They went on like that until evening, switching roles every so often. Harry's hair, as usual during training, was damp and clinging to the sides of his face. He ran a hand through it to keep it out of his eyes. Occasionally, Oliver would offer advice and new spells for them to practice and soon enough it was time to go home. Harry and Malfoy, however, continued their game of cat and mouse, reluctant to break their concentration. Harry was defense again and he darted across the room, through various obstacles, trying to keep the blonde at bay. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught a flash of red, Ron's hair, disappearing through the doors. _Idiot_ , he thought with a flash of annoyance. The moment was enough to distract him and Harry, who was just about to jump over a solid hurdle, was caught in the back by Malfoy's jinx. Harry flew forward, his wand flying out of his hand, and landed hard on the ground. 

Harry cough as the wind was knocked from his lungs and he turned slowly onto his back to better catch his breath. "Ow..." _That hurt_. He took in another breath. 

Malfoy appeared above him, blurry, and Harry lifted his hand to find that his glasses had gone flying somewhere, too. He let his hand fall back to the ground. 

"Potter, I've never seen anyone with less grace than you. It's admirable." 

"Fuck off," Harry said. He closed his eyes, feeling his muscles aching from the onslaught of training. Maybe he'll stay at Headquarters for the night. He didn't think he had the energy to make it back to Grimmauld Place. There was the sound of footsteps retreating and coming back to him. When he opened his eyes it was to find Malfoy offering back his wand and glasses. He mumbled a 'thanks' and accepted them. 

"How are you feeling?" 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, having never heard Malfoy ask such a thing before. The blonde's cheeks went a bit pink, but that could've been from their training. 

Malfoy motioned his head to the side so as to remove the stray platinum blond strand that had fallen in front of his eyes and said tentatively, "What I mean by that is...did you hurt your shoulder again?" 

Embarrassed for a reason he didn't quite know, Harry sat up and shook his head, securing his glasses back on his face. "No, your Dittany has been helping a lot. Thanks for that by the way...for yesterday..." Malfoy had managed to find him in the infirmary the night before after Savage had dismissed him from his lesson, with a fresh vial of Dittany. Out of all the things that Malfoy was being lately, _thoughtful_ was something Harry didn't think he could get used to. 

Malfoy didn't say anything after that. He leaned against the hurdle that Harry had tripped over and they trailed off into silence. After a moment, Malfoy summoned a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. 

"Not that it's any of my business," Harry observed, leaning back with his hand on the ground behind him, "but that can't be good for your health." 

"You're right," Malfoy agreed. 

"I am?" 

"Yes. It's _not_ any of your business." 

Harry rolled his eyes and Malfoy honored him with a smirk, exhaling the smoke in an elegant cloud above him. Harry glanced down at his thighs, feeling heat pooling in his cheeks for some reason or another. To distract himself, Harry stood up and dusted his hands off. 

"I can feel it, you know." 

"What?" Harry asked, alarmed, wondering if Malfoy had felt whatever feeling Harry had just felt a second ago. 

"Your magic. The force of it," Malfoy said quietly, his silver eyes locked on his. "It's too much for you isn't it?" 

Harry swallowed but didn't look away. Of course he knew. Malfoy had been there on all the occasions that his magic had gotten the better of him. But should Harry be worried? Would Malfoy tell Robards how much of a problem it was and get him kicked out of training? He panicked. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

Malfoy didn't roll his eyes, but he might as well have for the expression that crossed his face. "Don't insult me by pretending that nothing is the matter with you. It's so bloody obvious. You're screaming for attention." 

"What?!" 

"I said--" Malfoy began. 

"I am not!" Harry said, affronted. 

"You're not? Is that why you were so blatantly losing control of yourself in front of the entire Headquarters yesterday?" 

Harry reddened. "I-I wasn't thinking...not everyone's perfect for fuck's sake..." 

"If only the Wizarding World would believe that," Malfoy replied, looking away. 

Harry was just about to retort, thinking that Malfoy was taking a jibe at his status, before realizing that he might not be referring to Harry at all. Harry pursed his lips and they fell once more into silence. 

Malfoy took another long drag before turning back to Harry. "I can help." 

"What?" Harry asked. 

"Seriously, Potter. This hearing problem of yours--" 

"Why would you want to do that?" Harry interrupted. "What would you get out of it? What would you want in return?" 

There was a hint of impatience on Malfoy's face when he flicked his cigarette on the ground. He crushed it with his most-likely-Italian-leather-inconvenient-for-training-soled shoe. "Maybe I just want _help_ , Potter. Is that so fucking hard for you to understand?" He'd said this in a rush, no longer looking in his direction. 

Harry considered the offer, as strange as it was, chewing on the bottom of his lip. Finally he blinked and sighed. "How do you know you'll be able to help? Hermione hasn't even been able to figure it out. And you saw how dangerous I can get. I'll end up hurting you in some way or another." 

"Granger relies on books for her answers. I get mine through experience," Malfoy said simply. "I can help you control you magic. Simple spells, a few potions. You'll get a proper hold of that power in no time." 

Harry stared incredulously, not daring to believe...not _allowing_ himself to believe that Malfoy was telling the truth. He ran through all the different possible motives behind the offer. Was it to get Harry into a life debt? Or to poison him when Harry least expected it? Harry frowned. Those all seemed too juvenile of a reasoning. So then, what? Was he telling the truth? Was he really simply just trying to help? Harry considered it. He'd finally have a hold of his magic. No more outbreaks. No more loss of control. Harry could feel the tension inside of him build up; the swirling of barely contained magic. He studied the blonde who was now patiently waiting for a response. Was that nervousness Harry felt emitting from the other man? Malfoy was unconsciously pulling down the sleeves of his shirt, not once having rolled them up even through the heat of the training room. Then Harry though it might not be such a bad idea after all. He nodded. 

"Alright," Harry said finally. 

It was Malfoy's turn to stare incredulously. "Alright?" 

Harry bit back a smile. He nodded again. There was only another moment of incredulous staring before Malfoy broke into one of his rare smiles. Not having ever been at the receiving end of such a sight, Harry's breath caught. 

"Potter, you've just won yourself a private tutor. We'll meet tomorrow, study room Six." With that, Malfoy strolled away, leaving Harry to wonder what the fuck he just got himself into. 

\------------------- 

Despite his aching muscles and throbbing injuries, Harry arrived back at Grimmauld Place that night with his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long while. The fact that it might've been Draco Malfoy, his longtime rival, who had brought on the feeling was being carefully ignored, as was the voice telling him that he'd regret his decision come tomorrow. 

Despite all of this, Harry was smiling himself when he entered the kitchen, and was then startled to find that someone was already there, sitting at his table. He felt the smile slide off his face. 

"Hermione...what, erm, what are you doing here?" 

Hermione must have noticed Harry's quick change in mood and she looked nervously down at the table, before glancing up at him again. She tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear and explained, "I just came for a visit." 

Harry's jaw clenched and he grew unreasonably annoyed. "Couldn't have visited me any other day in the last three weeks could you?" The question slipped out before he could stop himself, and so it came out sounding harsher than he'd intended. He turned away from Hermione's expression and started on making tea. 

"I was busy with Healer training, Harry," she replied, successful in not letting her words sound like an excuse. Harry bit down on his guilt. "I'm sorry I couldn't...visit sooner," she continued. "How are you holding up? How is your magic?" 

"Fine," Harry told her as he prepared two cups of tea. He handed her a cup before leaning on the counter and taking slow sips out of his. "I'm taking care of it. What about you? How's training going?" 

"That's good. My training is going well, also," Hermione said, and she elaborated on the past few weeks of her training that Harry had missed out on: how her internship with one of the best Healers in Britain (a really handsome man, apparently) was going and how they had offered her a position in the Spell Damage department and also in the Artifact Accidents department for when she finished her basic training, because she was really good at detecting tampered-with muggle artifacts, but Hermione hadn't made any promises yet; she reckons it would be to her advantage if she broadened her exposure in the different fields before coming to a decision and settling on one. All the while Harry listened patiently, watched as his best friend talked; he smiled and laughed when it was called for, nodded when Hermione directed a statement towards him...all the while he tried to ignore the unspoken issue between them. The rift that Harry was beginning to see because there can't be one without the other and would it ever go back to how things were before? Just the three of them? 

"Harry?" 

"Yeah?" 

Looks like I've talked your ear off again," Hermione said, setting down her long since empty cup on the table before her. "I just haven't seen you in ages is all." A small, sad smile formed on her pink lips. 

"Yeah, ages..." 

She stood. "It's getting late. I should probably go..." 

"When will you visit again?" Harry asked, hearing the hope that had slipped into his voice. 

It was a small movement, tiny. The smallest crease in her eyebrows; the flash of conflict behind her gaze and Harry understood. He looked down, placed his empty cup on the table--it shook in his hand. 

"He's gone too far..." Harry said under his breath, his anger and magic bubbling inside of him. 

"Harry. _Harry_ , he hasn't...Harry, wait!" 

Harry only half registered Hermione shouting for him not to go as he left the kitchen and entered his sitting room. His fist clenched tightly. So is that what Ronald was doing now? Trying to convince Hermione not to speak to him again? Is that how far he's willing to go? He barked his destination when he thew the Floo powder in the fireplace, and appeared in the living room of the Burrow a few seconds later. He didn't bother to dust himself off, and he didn't bother to answer the alarmed questions of the Weasley parents--who were sitting on the sofa--before he began to climb the stairs. 

"Harry!" Hermione's voice came from the fireplace. 

When he entered what was once their shared bedroom over the summers, he had to pause. Little had changed: there was still a poster of the Chudley Cannons on the wall, faded, and peeling at the corners. The window was wide open, the night air drifting lazily inside. There was still two small twin beds, one at each end, their blankets folded neatly on top. A desk had been added in the middle of the room and Harry had to wonder how it had fit in there in the first place. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" 

Harry glanced to the only corner of the room that didn't hold furniture, where Ron was standing and staring at him with a fixed glare. Harry swallowed and tried to collect himself from the nostalgia at seeing the old room. He opened his mouth and said with as much calm as possible, "I know there is some unresolved issue between us, Ron, and I honestly don't even know how we've let it come this far but I will tell you this only once: Hermione is as much a part of my life as she is yours so don't you dare try to convince her otherwise." 

Ron stood still, drinking in his words, the tips of his ears and the top of his neck slowly reddening as it did whenever he was growing angry. "You think..." he started and stopped, shaking his head, his eyebrows creased in a harsh line. "If you think that I would ever stoop so low as to do something like that then it's a miracle we've remained friends for this long." 

Harry blinked and tried to look as though that statement hadn't hurt him as much as it had. "Then tell me why it's been weeks since I've last seen her, as if this hasn't driven her to choose between us--" 

"It's not like you've made yourself available for fuck's sake! You drove her away! You drove us all away, like you always do, Harry. Don't blame Hermione if you're the one who's not letting anyone in. If she doesn't want to see you, then she probably has a valid reason. As do the rest of us! Either way, I'm not going to sit around and wait for you. And neither is Hermione!" 

"You know what? Fuck you. You can't take her away from me! You shouldn't--does our friendship mean that little to you?" 

"Now that I've come to think of it, you don't even deserve our friendship anymore! Especially since you've started to hang about with that fucking Death Eater!" 

Harry's blood drained from his face. "You..." Harry stopped, feeling his shoulders start to shake. " _How dare you..._ " There was a movement at the entrance of the room. 

"Harry." 

Harry didn't need to turn around to see who it was. He raised his hand and forced the door closed with his magic. He ignored the yelling behind it. Ron for once looked uneasy and Harry felt a sick satisfaction at seeing his best friend that way. "You can say anything you want about me, Weasley. But don't you ever say anything about him again." 

" _What_?" Ron said with an incredulous, crazed laugh. "Do you even hear what's coming out of your bloody mouth, mate?! Do you remember the Malfoy we're talking about here? The one who made your life hell for seven years? Death Eater, who nearly killed Albus Dumbledore? Who nearly killed us all in the Room of Require--?" 

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up, Ronald. You don't know _anything_!" 

"I know enough to say that you've gone completely _mental_!" Ron said harshly. 

The next few seconds passed as though in a blur. Harry flew forward, trapping Ron against the wall and swinging his fist. The walls around them shook. Ron was just as quick to react and Harry felt something collide with the side of his head. If Harry were to look back on his moment, as the both of them struggled to gain the upper hand, he would think that it was a good thing that neither of them had reached for their wands, because as much hate as they were feeling in this small space of time, their frustration was much better expressed through their fists; and after everything was over, Harry could go on believing that things would go back to normal, to what they once were before life had gotten so complicated. Neither of them noticed, as they wrestled against the wall, that the poster that had hung in their room for years, had finally unstuck, had fallen, drifted to the ground, the folded edges waving slightly in the breeze of the open window. 

oOo

Draco recalled the times he had ever felt happy. Genuinely happy. There'd been many of them when he was little, when his parents had still been there. When they'd gotten him his first broom, for example. Or when they'd all gone to Italy on a whim because Draco had really wanted gelato before the summer ended. And there'd been some happy moments in the first years at Hogwarts, too, though those were sometimes hard to remember. Lately though, there wasn't anything that Draco could look forward to, and there was much less that could bring a genuine smile to his face. Which is why it was such a wonder to him, as he made his way home from training that evening, that the corner of his lips remained tilted slightly upwards. 

He tried to blame it on anything else. On the fact that he'd successfully disarmed Potter during their practice battle. Or on the fact that Katherine was able to restock the lost ingredients in his potions lab. But, no. The fact remained that Potter had accepted his help today. Despite Draco's past, despite all the shit that has happened between them, he had accepted. And this small step forward meant more to Draco than he dared to admit. 

Soon enough he arrived in front of the tall gray building that was his flat and he walked up the stairs that led to his rooms. When he opened the front door, he froze. The smile quickly slipped from his face. 

"Pansy." 

"Draco." Pansy Parkinson stood in the middle of the room and she turned towards him quickly, a look of guilt and warning on her face. In her hand she held a small glass filled with what he hoped was alcohol. Draco held back the urge to slap it away from her fingers. 

"Drake. Bit early for you to be coming back home, isn't it?" Blaise asked from his casual sitting position on the sofa. A bottle of Ogden's rested on the coffee table in front of him. 

Draco swallowed his rising anger and schooled his features into the mask he usually wore. He closed the front door behind him and ignored Pansy's stare. He directed his question at Blaise, "Though Borgin's was open late today?" 

"I managed to leave early. Had to, since dear Miss Pansy here had an urgent message for me," he sneered and looked her up and down. Draco glanced at her too, finding it hard not to be annoyed at what she'd gotten herself into. Pansy winced and tried to seem apologetic. 

"Well, if you're done," Draco reached out a hand for her to take. 

"Ah, don't rush, Drake. We'd just been about to have a drink. Why don't you join us," Blaise said. 

"No, thank you. I'll walk you out," he directed at Pansy. 

Blaise stood up then and walked up just behind Pansy. His gaze never wavered from Draco's. A small sadistic smile formed at the corner of the other man's lips when he laid a hand on Pansy's shoulder and if he hadn't been so close to her, Draco would've hexed him for the nerve. 

"I _insist_ ," Blaise said dangerously. 

Draco weighed his options. Either he could curse the bastard and risk hurting Pansy also, or he could give in to the man's sick games. Either way, neither would end without one of them getting hurt. With an internal sigh he came closer to the pair and, keeping his gaze locked on Blaise, took the glass from Pansy's hand and drank the liquid without a second's hesitation. He shoved the small glass toward Blaise's chest. Blaise took it, and Draco ignored the grin that was spreading on the other man's face. Quickly, for he felt his insides beginning to burn, Draco grabbed Pansy's hand and led her to the door. 

"Draco," she started. 

"I'll owl you," was all he said as he pushed her gently out of his flat and closed the door on her anxious face. He left his hand on the door for support, his breathing growing labored. _Fuck_. The world was drifting, tilting, and Draco tried to fight the effects of the mild poison. He recognized the smell. Asphodel. Lovage. A disorienting draught? "Zabini, you sick fuck." He stepped away from the door and it was as if his limbs weren't his own anymore; they were lethargic. His strength seemed to have diminished to something equivalent to that of a child. Draco remembered now. A simple potion that Severus had shown him years ago, draining the strength of the drinker. What exactly had he been planning to do with Pansy with her in this state? He thanked Merlin that he'd gotten there just in time. 

"Just wanted to make things a little fun for Pansy and I," Blaise said with a malicious smirk, before stepping forward and tugging Draco harshly towards him. Draco, not being able to catch his balance in time, fell into him. "You know what she did, Drake? She actually had the nerve to _threaten_ me because she says that I don't treat you right." He laughed as he held on to Draco. "But you arrived just in time. Wouldn't have wanted to fuck that bint anyway." 

Anger surged through Draco and he pushed Blaise away with all his draining strength but he stumbled back against the wall and before he knew it, he was trapped. Blaise crashed their lips together and Draco gasped when the other man ground his hips hard against his own. Draco struggled again, but his muscles burned, and his mind was foggy. He felt for his wand but Blaise was restricting his movements. He began to panic. He laid his hands on Blaise's chest and pushed with all his strength. _I don't want this_. 

"Let me go," Draco heard himself say vaguely when they pulled apart. He urged himself to say more but his throat had become useless. _I don't want this_ , he might've said this out loud. 

"Are you sure about that?" Blaise asked, reaching down between them and palming the front of Draco's trousers. "You seem to be enjoying this as much as I am." 

Draco could hear the laugh in his voice. The twisted smile against his lips. Draco's eyes closed, his heart thumping unnaturally in his chest, and he found he couldn't speak anymore. He breathed with difficulty, and he made no sounds of ascent. He tried again to push him away, grabbed Blaise's wrist which had snuck under his shirt, beneath his waistband, despising the burning touch that they left on his skin. But he had no strength left. His clothes were torn away; he was exposed. When his knees buckled, Blaise held him against the wall, held him be his legs, his waist, his neck; he was shaking when Blaise entered him. He tried to pull away, and cried out at the unbelievable pain that came next. He bit the insides of his cheeks, clenched his lips together to not give in. 

"You don't know how much it turns me on to see you like this, Drake," Blaise breathed into his ear. "Powerless." 

Draco's insides churned in disgust. When he was placed on the floor, Draco moved away and he reached for the glass bottle that had been placed on the coffee table. His ankle was grasped and he swung the glass with all his remaining strength. Blaise growled in anger as it shattered at his shoulder and just as quick, Draco felt a heavy fist slam against his temple and his vision wavered. He fought to stay awake. His wrists were grasped and placed over his head and the pain in his lower body returned but it was dull. Numb. He drifted. 

When he regained consciousness, he was alone. The room was silent. His skin had grown cold. With an unpleasant lurch Draco twisted onto his side, his stomach emptying itself onto the floor. He dry heaved for minutes after, his body shaking in pain and shock. 

When the tremors subsided, he looked for his wand. 

He redressed. 

He left. 

oOo

Harry didn't know where exactly he'd apparated to. His mind had sort of been preoccupied when he stormed away from the Burrow. But his surrounding were strangely familiar, as though he'd been here once but couldn't remember when. The moon was high above, illuminating a tall, gray building that lay before him. He didn't linger for too long. His muscled ached. And he could feel the fresh bruises on his face from his fight with Ron, along with all the rest he'd gotten from training. He sighed and followed the sidewalk down the road. He figured he'd officially fucked up his relationship with the Weasley's but for now he didn't want to be bothered by it too much. He had his magic to think about and he didn't fancy another outburst in the middle of god-knows-where. Maybe they could forgive him sooner or later. He rubbed his face and hair in frustration. 

The sidewalk eventually led him to a small park which was empty considering how late it was in the evening. He strolled down past the trees, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans to shield him from the cold. He soon passed an occupied bench, not fully paying attention to the hooded figure that was sitting there. He did a double-take, however, when a flash of platinum blond hair caught his eyes. 

"Malfoy?" Harry asked incredulously. It was indeed Malfoy who was sitting there in a black hooded jumper and loose bottoms. Harry's eyebrows furrowed when it took Malfoy exactly five seconds to meet his gaze. His eyes were unnaturally dark and thoroughly unfocused as they tried to meet Harry's. "Malfoy, what...are you alright?" Harry came closer and felt his stomach drop at seeing the state of Malfoy's face. He couldn't make it out too clearly, since it was dark and the streetlights were dim, but the side of Malfoy's face was definitely swollen. Harry tried to recall if he'd seen that at the end of training earlier, but he was sure Malfoy hadn't been injured then. His mouth was bruised and several scratches lined his pale, pale face. Harry immediately reached to take a hold of him, but froze as Malfoy winced terribly and stumbled further into the bench. 

" _No_..." 

"Malfoy," Harry pulled back, his worry increasing by the second. "It's me. It's Potter." 

"Potter?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, remember me? Harry Potter," Harry said, scrabbling at the reasons why Malfoy would be in such a state. 

"Harr...of-of course I remember you," Malfoy said, clearing his throat and glancing around him as if he were just noticing exactly where he was. His eyes remained unfocused, and Harry detected the small tremors running through the young man's body. When Malfoy said nothing more, Harry came closer. Malfoy quickly glanced at him and Harry stopped his advance. 

"Why don't I take you home?" Harry offered. He knew he'd said the wrong thing when a flash of panic passed through those dark gray eyes. "My home, Malfoy. I meant...Would you...Would you like to come back to my place?" 

It seemed that Malfoy was considering it, but it was hard to tell since he still looked disoriented. Either way, Harry did not want to take no for an answer. He wasn't going to leave Malfoy alone in this state. He breathed a sigh of relief when he was given the smallest of nods. Harry was about to take another step forward, thought better of it, and extended an arm. "I need you to take a hold of my arm. I'll apparate us back to Grimmauld Place." 

Malfoy chewed on his lip for a moment, stood up with a fair amount of difficulty and reach a hand slowly towards him. He slipped it in between Harry's elbow and without a seconds more hesitation, Harry disapparated. 

The second they arrived, Malfoy's hand slipped away and he stepped back, swaying on the spot. He looked too pale, too sick, and the injuries didn't look any better under the ceiling lights. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Malfoy so nervous and distressed. Holding back an urge to reach out to him again, Harry stepped out of the room and headed towards his medicine cabinet. 

When Harry came back into the sitting room it was to find that Malfoy was exactly where he'd left him: standing in the middle of the room, the sleeves of his black jumper slipping past his wrists and down his fingers. Something inside of Harry stirred at the sight and he walked towards the blonde. "Why don't you sit for a minute?" 

Malfoy glanced at him briefly before moving to the sofa and sitting down. A quiet "thank you" left his lips. 

Harry nodded awkwardly and pointed to the seat next to him. "Do you mind if I...?" 

Something close to a scoff came from Malfoy before he said rather stiffly, "Potter, this is your house...do whatever you'd like..." 

Harry flushed, though he still moved with care so as to not startle Malfoy as he had earlier. He sat down next to him. From his pocket he took out a glass container. He unscrewed the top. 

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked. His body had tensed and his dark grey eyes swirled with mistrust. 

Harry held up the container. "Star-Grass," he said by way of explanation. "The swelling isn't getting any better and we should heal those cuts before they get worse." The blonde man hesitated for a moment longer before nodding. Harry scooted closer, appreciating the fact that Malfoy was letting him do this. He moved Malfoy's hood out of the way, which had still been covering part of his face and hair and swallowed as he noticed the extent of his injuries. They didn't stop on his face; Harry could see that there were red marks and bruises forming on the man's neck and Harry had little doubt that they went further down his body. He took a small amount of salve on his fingers and lifted them towards Malfoy. The first touch of skin sent familiar, and not all too unpleasant tingles down his arm. He smoothed the salve over Malfoy's swollen eye, at his temple where a yellow bruise had formed, and on the scratches on his cheeks. Malfoy's gaze burned through him but Harry was careful to avoid it. He was having trouble concentrating as it was. He moved his fingers towards Malfoy's jaw, the salve coating in a thin layer over the purpled skin. A frown had formed on Harry's face. Who would do this to him? Without thinking, Harry reached to unbutton Malfoy's jumper but hands grabbed at his wrists so fast that the glass container slipped from Harry's fingers and fell to the floor. Their eyes met and Harry thought he'd never seen Malfoy look more vulnerable before. Malfoy's eyes had grown wide with unease, and shock surged through Harry when he realized how exactly Malfoy had been injured. "I..." Harry began. He didn't know what to say. His wrists burned at the contact. 

Malfoy let go of his hands and moved away, clearing his throat and readjusting his hood around his neck. "You should use some of the salve on your own face," Malfoy said. 

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he realized that he hadn't taken care of his own bruises from earlier. "Oh," he said and he bent to pick up the container. When he straightened, Malfoy seemed to have recovered himself though he was still pale. "You must be tired. I've got a spare room...and a shower since we both seemed to have neglected that after training." Harry tried to smile but he didn't think he'd succeeded. 

"Thanks," Malfoy said and he looked at him. "That'd be nice." 

\-------------------- 

Draco stood still under the shower head, the cold water running freely over his freshly healed bruises and numbing those that he had yet to heal. But he felt the effects of the weakening draught finally leaving him. HIs mind was clear now, though a million different things ran through it, most of which included a certain raven-haired wizard who had tended to his wounds. He reached a hand up to his temple where Potter had been careful to apply the salve. He sighed and closed his eyes, turning his head up so that the water ran directly onto his face. _What in the world was he even doing there?_ There was no reason for Potter to have shown up and even less for him to have brought him to his own place. Sure, Draco had agreed to it, but that had been the potion talking. Once again Draco found himself indebted to the man, for he would've surely passed out sitting on the bench in the park. 

He stepped out of the shower, thinking he'd spent nearly an hour under the water and reached for his wand. He stood in front of the mirror and saw for the first time the damage on his skin: Draco could still feel the imprints Blaise had left there. What was more, there were small circular wounds littering his abdomen and pelvic area. Cigarette burns. He turned away from his reflection, feeling sick again. But there was nothing left in his stomach to expel. He couldn't even remember...not clearly, anyway... 

He mended his wounds, tied a towel around his waist and opened the door only to find Potter standing there with his hand raised as if he'd been about to knock. Potter's hand fell quickly and he said, "Sorry, thought I should...You'd been in there for so long..." 

Draco, feeling nervous having to face the man after his display of weakness, scrambled to find something to reply. In the end he went with, "Strawberry scented shampoo, Potter? Really?" 

Potter's eyebrows rose and he let out a shaky laugh, "That's not mine. It was Gin--erm, Hermione's." 

"Of course it was," Draco said, but he'd caught Potter's slip, and it confused him a little. They stood at the entrance to the washroom for a few seconds, Draco growing agitated the longer he stood half-naked in front of the man, before finally saying, "You mentioned a spare room?" 

"Oh, yeah, it's right next to mine actually. It's, erm, this way." 

When he got there, Potter hovered at the door again. Draco found it rather nice, albeit puzzling, and so he hovered close by as well. There was something behind that emerald gaze. A question that Draco couldn't interpret. Potter reached a hand up to adjust his glasses and ran a hand through that hair. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. 

Draco almost rolled his eyes. "Well, spit it out." 

"I know we've had some...disagreements in the past. But I...well, I guess what I'm trying to say is," Potter paused, flustered. "If you ever need to talk..." 

Draco cursed his heart, which had flipped unwantedly at the words. "I have nothing to talk about," he said without thinking. 

"Oh," Potter said, taken aback. He nodded and looked towards the floor. 

Draco frowned and thought he'd better explain, "Not-not now anyway." 

Potter glanced up at him. 

"But I appreciate...your help...with everything," Draco finished, unable to meet his eyes. 

"You're welcome," Potter smiled and Draco felt a minuscule twitch at the corner of his lips. 

The next moment had Draco rooted on the spot. Potter reached towards him--Draco had to fight to keep still--and it hovered just next to DRaco's face. It seemed that Potter was asking for permission, since he didn't move any closer. Draco blinked, unable to turn away from the penetrating emerald gaze, before feeling the softest touch on his cheek. He could barely contain a gasp at the feeling of Potter's magic; it was different this time, intentional and unobstructed and completely _wrong_ because it made him want more, much more... 

He stepped away and the hand dropped. 

"Goodnight," Draco said. 

"Goodnight." 

oOo

_End Chapter Ten_


	11. The Difference Between

__warnings: language, violence, abuse, m/m content_ _

 

oOo

**October 29th, 2000**

"Where did you learn that spell?" Harry asked, curiosity peaking.

It was mid-morning on Sunday, two weeks since Harry had started his magic training with Malfoy. They now sat opposite each other at one of the tables in study room six, discussing a new spell that Malfoy meant to try on him.

The blonde glanced at him, hesitating before answering. "I was lucky enough to be exposed to a side of experimental magic that I wouldn't have otherwise."

"Dark magic, you mean?" Harry asked. "Voldemort's idea, I bet?"

To Malfoy's credit, there was only a small flash of annoyance that crossed his face.

Holding back a smile Harry pointedly went back to the book he was rifling through:  _The Magical Core: Five Things to Know Before Trying Anything._

"Did you know," Malfoy started with what Harry had soon come to realize was the tone of lecture, "they say that the Auror program is three years mainly because they have to spend almost a year teaching us to unlearn what we've learned at Hogwarts? Hogwarts doesn't even teach us where the dividing line between Dark and Light magic is."

Harry regarded a passage in the book with a frown before glancing once at Malfoy and saying, "Yes, with good reason. Do you know how many people would've misinterpreted or taken advantage of that kind of information? Even you would've found that kind of information useful."

Harry froze with his finger on the page, realizing what he'd just said. He opened his mouth to apologize before catching sight of Malfoy's raised eyebrow.

Malfoy regarded him for a moment longer before letting out a sigh, a look of exasperation on his face. "As much as I would love to hex you for that veiled accusation, I don't think I could deny that with good conscience. Nevertheless, I think that's where the problem lies."

"What do you mean?"

Malfoy hesitated as though considering his next words.

Tentatively he said, "Well, Dark Magic has always been seen as just that.  _Dark."_ He lifted a pale, manicured hand just as Harry opened his mouth to argue. He continued, "What wizards fail to see is that  _any_ magic, even the simplest of spells, can turn dark if the caster wills it to be. All magic is inherently good, minus the intention. Does that make sense? Things don't always have to be so black and white, Potter."

With his finger still hovering over the passage of the book, Harry slowly nodded in understanding. He commended himself for not looking so surprised at Malfoy's words at how strange they sounded coming from his lips. But Harry supposed he can agree with them. He was, of course, all too familiar with that dichotomy.  _The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters_ , Sirius' voice came to him, and the corner of Harry's lips lifted slightly.

"I can agree with that," Harry said. "Partly.  But you can't tell me that there is ever a good intention behind the Killing Curse or Crucio because let me tell you,  _I would know_ \--"

"Let me rephrase," Malfoy offered, leaning forward on the table and tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear. " _Nearly_ all magic is good, if the intention is pure. It's all a very delicate topic of research. Very taboo. Most wizards can't stand to hear it."

Harry doesn't hold back his smile this time. Not when it was so plain to see how passionate Malfoy could get when speaking about these things. He gazed back down at the passage under his finger, a nervousness he had never felt before snaking over his arms and chest. He read the words once more:

_Exposure of magical cores can have differing results. As with proper nourishment, companionable cores will flourish and grow, just as negligence and opposing cores can hinder the other's development. As such, great care should be taken when--_

Harry exhaled, closed the book, and set it aside. Magical cores, companionable cores, opposing cores--he crossed his arms--but nothing specific about how to  _know_ whether or not his core was actually merging with the man in front of him. Not that he really needed any more proof; he had suspicion enough that the two were... _unifying_ what with all the tingling and [pleasant] shocks that occasionally ran through him at the contact. _  
_

But even if Harry wanted to open this up in conversation to clarify things, he had the nagging feeling that Malfoy wouldn't take the news of their merging cores all too well. And Harry really didn't want to disrupt this growing friendship of theirs. As odd as it was, Harry was becoming attached.

Which couldn't be good news for either of them.

Finally catching Malfoy's raised eyebrow-expectant look, Harry quickly straightened himself and said with a small wave of his hand, "I would've never thought you to be so...theoretical."

Malfoy smirked and gave him a small one-shoulder shrug. "I've had a lot of time to read," he said by way of explanation. He eyed the book Harry had been reading and swallowed visibly. "Now are you going to let me help you this time, or are we just going to sit here and do nothing?"

Harry pursed his lips and resisted the urge to cross his arms again. "You know I find it very hard to trust you after that last experiment you tried on me."

"How the hell was I supposed to know that you'd react like a little twat?"

"So you think panicking at the near fatal accident with my own magic constitutes as me being a twat?...Oh, never mind for fuck's sake," Harry said, just as Malfoy opened his mouth to answer. Harry scowled good-naturedly. "All I'm saying is that I'd really appreciate it if you don't rush me this time."

Malfoy let out a breath of amusement and raised his hands, "Fair enough." He stood.

Harry followed suit with a mumbled, "I've enough trouble trying to hold it all in with you in here."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing."

Malfoy gazed at him with suspicion before motioning for Harry to stand a few feet in front of him. He raised his wand, waving it in an intricate pattern, his pale hand flowing expertly in the air as the spell slowly opened the channels of Harry's magic, allowing them to become visible.

The spell unwound around Harry, his magic unfurling in its usual vibrant red. The sensation was peculiar as though small, warm streams of water were flowing through his veins and out of the tips of his fingers. It took him until a few days ago to actually centralize his magic on to the palms of his hands, as opposed to it flowing freely from all of Harry's surfaces. He took a moment to familiarize himself once more to his own magic, stoking the energy gently before reaching out and, with a nod from Malfoy, moving a coil of his magic around them.

Malfoy for the most part, stood to the side, instructing Harry and giving him various tasks to complete. It was all in the effort to exercise Harry's control, and Harry had to admit that it was working fairly well. Even his nightmares seemed to have lessened, and there were a lot less mishaps during training that he was actually quite happy to have accepted help in the first place. Soon, Malfoy had said, he wouldn't have a need for his wand.

"Your spell-work will be more powerful in its raw state," Malfoy said, eyeing as a thread of Harry's magic wormed its way past his pointed, flawless face. Out of curiosity it seemed, Malfoy reached out a hand, a finger to touch the thread. Before Harry could protest, it made contact.

A visible shock went through the both of them and Harry froze as he felt a bizarrely familiar source of magic seep through his veins, as though it'd happened before. It was potent, intoxicating and Harry knew at once that this was what Malfoy's magic felt like. It swirled inside of him, thriving and Harry's heart clenched at the intensity. When their eyes met, emerald eyes silver gaze, Malfoy seemed to be in a daze, shaken, out of breath, flushed, and if he had to place a word for the look on Malfoy's face...

Just as Harry was about to step forward and do Merlin knows what, the moment was broken and a paper airplane slipped noisily through the cracks of the study room door. It flew to a stop in front of the blonde. Harry, fully away and a bit invigorated, easily reeled in his magic, straightening his shirt as the vibrant red slowly disappeared back into his body. Malfoy cleared his throat and reach out to take the note with a shaking hand. Silver eyes scanned the page and although his face was still flushed with energy, his mouth turned into a deep frown.

Harry walked forward, curious. "What is it?"

Malfoy shook his head, folded the page neatly and slipped it into his black trouser pocket. "Nothing of consequence. But regrettably, I'll have to leave our session earlier than usual." He picked up his onyx cloak from one of the chairs, slipped it on as gracefully as he always did and started for the door. He paused when he reached the handle and glanced back. "Meet you at the lab after Poisons tomorrow?"

Harry tried but he couldn't stop the smile on his face. "I'll be there."

\-----------------------

Draco's legs thankfully remained upright as he stepped out of the lift and onto the vast main floor of the Ministry. He was feeling very on the edge, jittery and in general as though he'd slipped a bottle or two of Ogden's into his system not five minutes before. Couple that with a shot, two shots of muggle espresso and Draco would have a very accurate interpretation of what Potter's magic felt like as it swam inside of him, through his veins and into his already over-stimulated brain.

But  _fuck,_ that did not feel like it had the first time Draco had tried it. It was as though Potter had grown stronger, but in such a drastically short amount of time that the result had been too much for Draco's body to handle. His heart was beating so erratically in his chest that if Draco hadn't known any better, he'd think he was having a fit. Which he probably was, all things considered--'all things' being the fact that this shouldn't be happening, that Draco was being stupidly reckless because he  _knows_ what will happen and yet he couldn't find it in himself to stop; merging cores or not, the longer Harry Potter was in his presence, the more he felt himself being pulled towards the raven-haired man. Draco felt powerless to stop it.

He wasn't even sure he wanted to.

What was more, the Dark Mark which had been burning dull and constant for weeks now, had not seized its throbbing. Instead it burned worse than ever--so much so that the batch of Star Grass salve that he'd made only the previous week, had already run out. Which meant yet another late night at the lab.

Refocusing his attention with a lot more difficulty than he dared to admit, Draco searched through the crowds in the main lobby, ignoring some of the blatant stares and anti-Death Eater comments of the witches and wizards ambling about. He made his way past the great fountain, disregarding the persistent solicitors with their self-printed newspapers and odd magical collections, side-stepping angry personnel with no regard to the safety of the people in front of them, and grimacing when a stray cloak or careless arm brushed too close for comfort.

Eventually, hours later it seemed though it had probably only been a minute or two, Draco spotted the little Ministry Cafe and Shoppe and entered through its doors, watching as they closed behind him with a clink of the metal doorbell.

"Shall I find you a seat?" a young waitress offered him politely as he turned back around.

"That won't be necessary," Draco replied brusquely and swept past her, having already caught sight of the person he was looking for.

"Oh, Merlin, Draco. Why do you look as though you've just had one off?" Pansy Parkinson asked as he drew closer, looking so scandalized that Draco wanted to sink into the ground and remain there until his high had subsided. Outwardly though, he remained properly composed albeit more flushed, he figured, than when he had initially stepped off of the lift.

"Say that any louder, Pans, I doubt the Minister heard you the first time," he deadpanned. He sank gracefully into the seat across from her, shedding his cloak in almost the same movement, folding it neatly and placing it across his lap. Pansy sat in front of him, her beautifully tailored robes of deep magenta standing out in a sea of black and brown work robes, and a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of them.

"You did, then?" Pansy persisted, her dark eyes widening and a naughty smile grazing the corner of her light red lips.

"No, for fuck's sake," Draco said, exasperated and effectively holding back a roll of his eyes. He straightened his shirt collar around his neck in an effort to steady his still-shaky hand, relieved, as he glanced around the little coffee shop, that no one paid him and his table any particular attention.

"Hmm," Pansy replied just as the waitress from before came up to their table, a blue notepad floating in the air next to her.

"Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked rather rudely in Draco's general direction.

Draco cocked an eyebrow, decided it wasn't worth to mention her rudeness, and instead asked, "What do you have here?"

"It's a cafe, mister," she answered with a flip of her long black hair. "Take a wild guess."

Draco deftly chose to ignore the unladylike and half-assed muffled snort that came from across the table, and narrowed his eyes. A name tag on the girl's apron read, 'Elena.' He indicated towards the cup in front of Pansy and said, "Whatever she's having then, Elena, if it's not too much trouble."

The girl pursed her lips, closed her notepad with a snap, and turned away in the direction of the kitchens, Draco supposed. He half-glared at the back of her head until she disappeared, before reluctantly turning his attention back to Pansy.

"What are doing here, Pansy?" he asked after she failed to say anything for a minute.

Pansy took her time in answering, grabbing her coffee mug with both of her hands. She blew the surface of it to cool it down and took a sip. "Ministry business," she said with a smile.

"Ministry business? Since when does writing for the Spanish gossip column have anything to do with the English Ministry?"

Pansy laughed delicately. "Not  _my_ business actually," she amended as she took another sip. "Stefan is on call here for a few days--a conference of some sort." She waved a hand. "I just asked to come along."

"Oh, you did?"

Pansy nodded, placing her mug back on the table. "Arrived just a few hours ago. Don't know if I'll see much of him, though, but Mother says it's always good to stay close by. Distance isn't good for marriage, apparently...'You can't get pregnant on your own now, can you?!'" she imitated with a stern, slightly-accented voice.

"Your mother is a wise woman," Draco said, amused.

"She's definitely something," Pansy said fondly. Then she scowled. "You know, she sends an owl every other night asking if I've..." she glanced around for eavesdroppers and lowered her voice to a crazed whisper, "...asking if I've been having proper intercourse with my husband, and to make sure that I'm giving it all I've got!"

Draco laughed into his hand. "I can imagine how you responded to that."

"I told her to shove it and to keep her bloody nose out of my affairs!" she said with wide eyes as if that were the most obvious thing to say to one's prying mother. "She doesn't listen, of course...Merlin, I don't think I've tried so hard to have sex since...well...you'd know all about that wouldn't you?" she finished accusingly.

"Merlin, don't remind me," Draco laughed again, thankfully keeping a deep blush in check.

Pansy frowned. "I wasn't  _that_ awful was I?" she asked with an underlining of insecurity that made Draco's chest surge with both amusement and protectiveness.

"No, Pans, you were brilliant," he said sincerely.

It got the desired effect: Pansy beamed and settled back in her chair, reassured.

"Of course I was," she sniffed.

They both looked up as the waitress Elena returned to their table, placing a steaming cup of black coffee in front of Draco and wiping her hands on her apron.

"Anything else I can get you?" she asked.

Draco opened his mouth to mention that his coffee was definitely darker than Pansy's caramel-colored drink, but she was already walking away, her long black hair swinging annoyingly at her back. 

Pansy snorted. "What in the world did you do to her?"

"Fuck if I know," Draco huffed. He didn't dare to take a sip of the steaming hot liquid, though his throat itched with thirst.

"I think she's fond of you."

"Please don't."

Pansy let out a girlish giggle but relented easily, picking up her own drink again. She blinked at him expectantly and gave him an almost-smile before looking away. She placed her mug on the table.

"It worked out for the better, actually," Pansy said to him quietly to which Draco gave her a questioning look. "My mother's advice..." she clarified, "...is always  _infuriatingly_ useful..."

Draco looked down at his cup, back up at her expectant brown eyes, and back down at his cup. Then her words sank in. Draco blanched, his eyes snapping back up to her.

"No...!" Draco stared, his mouth open in disbelief as Pansy broke into a delighted grin. She nodded, and Draco spotted her hand, resting on her stomach.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," beamed Pansy.

Draco was speechless, mixed feelings swirling: shock, happiness, protectiveness, and confusingly, and inkling of sorrow. He didn't let that last one show, and instead let out a breath of laughter, hesitating only a second before standing and nearly bringing her out of her seat as he embraced her.

Pansy laughed, sniffling as they pulled apart.

"How did your husband react?" Draco asked, settling back in his seat.

Pansy pursed her lips, looking almost guilty. "I've yet to tell him," she admitted.

Draco smiled, secretly humbled at the gesture she was showing him. "I'm sure he will be thrilled to hear about it."

"He will be. Stefan is very family oriented," she said happily, resting her chin on her hand and somehow managing to make that look elegant.

Soon Pansy's cup had emptied and she settled back in her seat, a frown on her face. She stared at Draco hard. Draco cocked an eyebrow and forced himself not to fidget under her gaze. Something was amiss, and he would bet the entire contents in his vault that he knew what Pansy would bring up next.

"Did you get my messages?" Pansy asked finally.

There goes the entire contents in his vault, Draco thought with a smile before guilt quickly made its way forward. He wasn't fast enough to keep it from showing on his face. Pansy raised her own eyebrow as if to say, 'Well?' Draco gritted his teeth.

"I have it here," he replied, taking the carefully folded paper airplane from his black trouser pocket and showing it to her unnecessarily.

Pansy huffed and gave him a hard stare. "That's the one I sent half an hour ago, Draco." She waited for Draco to say something.

When he didn't, Pansy persisted, " _Draco_."

Draco sighed and resisted the urge to crumble under her gaze. He remained silent, stubborn.

"Draco, darling, you haven't replied to any of my posts since...since  _then_..." she trailed off, and though Draco knew exactly which  _then_ she was referring to, he'd much prefer to stay away from that topic of discussion for a very long time. Forever, in fact.

"Have you decided on a name for the b--"

"Don't change the subject."

Draco bit his lip. "I've been rather busy, Pans," he said offhandedly. "I'd meant to reply to you as soon as I could."

"How long does it take for you to write a simple 'I'm okay,' or 'I'll get back to you, Pansy' and sent it off with an owl?" Pansy said with a frown, her polished eyebrows creased.

Inconspicuously, Draco sent a privacy spell around them.

Pansy searched his face, though he continued to remain silent. She huffed again, her eyes glassy. "I could only imagine what...what he...what Blaise did, Draco! I was worried! It would've been  _my_ fault if--"

"No. No, Pansy, it wouldn't have," Draco said firmly.

Pansy's lip trembled. "You're not still living there, are you?"

Draco sighed again, his head now starting to throb, hating the fact that Pansy was bringing this up after her good news. The last thing he wanted to do was remember what happened that night. Much less talk about it. He swallowed with difficulty and smoothed a hand over his hair. The truth was that Draco had started to reply to her every time, and every time he would never finish the letter, feeling an ache at the thought of recounting what had happened.

When he felt Pansy's hand over his own, he was startled. He fought to not move his hand away for fear of hurting Pansy. She gave his hand a squeeze.

"I just want to know that you're safe," she said. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself if something happened to you."

Draco nodded and gently extracted his hand from hers. "I'm fine, Pans. You worry too much," he said with a smile. When her expression of worry didn't change, he continued, "I'm not living there anymore." 

Pansy searched his face for a bit longer, possibly for any signs that he was lying to her, before finally breaking into a beautiful smile. "Good. You were much too good for him, love--is that Harry Potter?"

Draco turned almost too quickly, following her line of sight and spotting him walking past the cafe windows side-by-side with Auror Wood. Draco and Pansy weren't the only ones looking: people were whispering and pointing and Draco found himself getting highly annoyed and wishing for them to mind their own bloody business for one in their insignificant lives. Distracted, he took a sip of his cold black coffee, watching as the end of Potter's dark robes disappeared past the windows. He made a face and placed the cup back on the table.

"He looks so different," Pansy said conversationally.

"I hadn't noticed," Draco said, avoiding her gaze.

"Yes, he does--more mature. Maybe it's the glasses. Finally got rid of those spello-taped monstrosities, you remember them?" Pansy asked. "They annoyed you so much, remember? 'Can't he afford some new ones, for fuck's sake?'"

"I don't recall saying that ever in my life," Draco lied. "...and watch your mouth, the baby will hear."

Pansy laughed at him. "Sure, darling. How do you cope being around him during training?"

"...It's not like it was at school, Pans. It's...different," Draco started to say, a bit horrified that he was actually saying anything at all. "I--"

He was interrupted yet again by another paper airplane shuffling in through the cracks of the doors; it stopped in front of Pansy this time.

"Oh, it's Stefan. I've got to meet him for lunch. Care to join us?" Pansy asked hopefully.

Draco smiled and shook his head. "Go on."

Pansy looked as though she would insist, but thankfully she only nodded. She stood and reached into her bejeweled bag.

"Don't be daft," Draco said sternly and waved her off.

Pansy smiled and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. "We'll continue this conversation later. Bye, darling."

He watched her leave. "Be careful!" he called after her before he could stop himself. Catching the glare from Elena-the-Waitress at the other end of the shop, Draco quickly lowered his privacy ward. He dropped a few sickles on the table and left, shrugging on his cloak as he went.

oOo

With November just around the corner, Harry found himself swamped with Auror training, magic training, and Quidditch. But he had settled easily into a routine. He rarely saw Grimmauld Place if it wasn't strictly for sleeping and even then he would find himself staying more often at the Auror common room overnights. Not that Harry minded. Frankly, he enjoyed being closer to headquarters. Being busy was keeping Harry sane, keeping him from feeling the absence of his friends. Not to mention that Malfoy frequented headquarters after training hours as well. He found himself enjoying these moments the most--any moments, really, if they involved the blonde...and it was no different now as he walked through Level Two, briskly, towards the infirmary's potion lab.

 It was empty when he entered the infirmary. The evening had become dark--the windows fogged from the warmth of the room. Katherine was nowhere to be seen, presumably keeping away in her office. Within seconds he'd crossed the length of the room and reached the door to the lab. He opened it.

"You're here. Pass the conium, would you?" Draco said as soon as the door closed behind Harry. Draco was standing in front of a steaming cauldron, his hair loose, damp from the fumes. Harry felt an unwelcome flutter in the pit of his stomach, and felt it somersault as he watched the slim frame lean forward to scrutinize the notes that lay on the table. His pale fingers held up three glass vials, each a different color, likely containing the next ingredients for the potion.

"The what?" Harry asked, having forgotten what he'd been asked to retrieve.

"The conium...there," Draco motioned with his chin, "...no,  _there_ , the coni--the hemlock for Merlin's sake, Potter. Third cabinet to your right," he said, exasperated.

Harry summoned his pair of protective gloves, slipped them on, opened the cabinet and reached in, carefully grabbing a handful of hemlock for Draco to choose from. He brought it over to the table and offered it to him.

Draco picked a few healthy sprigs from Harry's hand, placing the now empty vials onto a cleaning tray.

"Why don't you even wait for me to start our work together?" Harry asked.

"What, and risk having everything destroyed within the hour?" he responded with a sneer, clipping the sprigs into smaller sizes.

Harry leaned forward with his hands on the table, half-glaring at the blonde. "You do remember it being your fault that I have this huge scar on my shoulder, don't you?"

Draco turned to look at him and then down to his shoulder before returning to his cauldron. "I'm not going to argue with you, Potter."

Harry smirked, not really caring whose fault it was, and read over the notes that now lay in front of him. Malfoy's handwriting was small, each letter elegant on the page. "Diluted basilisk venom..." he read. "Where--"

"Locked case in the back, at the top by all the bottles."

Harry followed his direction, coming back to the table with the smallest stoppered flask he'd ever seen. The flask was warm to the touch even through his protective gloves, and inside was what Harry guessed to be merely three drops of basilisk venom. He grimaced, remembering with clarity his second year at Hogwarts.

"Do I even want to know how they managed to get this?"

"It wasn't without difficulty I can assure you," Draco said. He took the flask from his hand, motioning Harry closer. "You see how dark the potion is right now?" Harry nodded as he took off his gloves. Draco tilted the tiny flask into the cauldron and they watched as the basilisk venom sizzled dangerously as it reached the surface. Draco vanished the now empty flask and motioned for Harry to pay close attention. 

Harry watched, fascinated when the color swirled, its color growing lighter and lighter until all that was left was a crystal clear surface, as though it had turned to water.

"In theory, the potion is already finished," Draco was telling him, his eyes alight with contained excitement. "It has all the properties of one of the most dangerous poisons known to wizards, which is ultimately what most people are working towards when they start this potion. But what's fascinating about this is that it can also be a medicine to  _cure_ most poisons!"

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Your kidding. And how does one distinguish..." He motioned towards the cauldron. "How?"

Draco made a face, clearly holding back a comment about his lack of proper speaking skills. Harry ignored it. "As I've said, most people who brew this potion are brewing it for poison. But they lack the proper knowledge of its most basic ingredients. And  _that_ is what distinguishes the master brewer," Draco said with a lift of his finger.

Harry held back a smile and waited to hear more. When Draco didn't talk further, Harry drew closer, their shoulders and elbows touched as they looked down at their work. "So...so how could we live through it?" Harry pressed.

"Thought you'd never ask," Draco said with a smirk, ignoring Harry's eye roll and turning to summon an empty vial. With his wand Draco carefully extracted the potion and filled the vial halfway. He stoppered it and turned to face Harry who still stood next to him, the smile still playing at the corner of his lips. "The benefit of having had a potion's master as a godfather is all the indispensable information about potions that they don't teach you at Hogwarts," he told him. "Or anywhere else for that matter."

"You're a lucky man," Harry said, trying not to concentrate on the strand of platinum blonde hair that had fallen in front of Draco's eyes; trying not to think of how those pale, grey eyes were lit up and how Harry, in all his years at Hogwarts, had never even noticed them before. Because they were brilliant. And he was definitely trying hard not to concentrate on the fact that Draco was within touching distance--closer, in fact, than they'd ever been...not counting the times when they'd tried to kill each other in the past...and that time in September when he'd saved Draco from drowning...oh, he should really be paying attention to what Draco was saying.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Draco sighed, exasperated. "You know how I always say that you have a hearing problem? Please, I'm begging you. Have it checked out."

Harry laughed, shaking his head and grabbing the edge of the table to steady himself. His magic was just under the surface of his skin, as if waiting. His face grew warm, and he suddenly had no idea where to look.

Draco cleared his throat loudly, and tucked the strand of hair behind his ear. "What I had said was..." he seemed to wait until Harry had looked at him again, and held his gaze, "that the difference here...Harry...between this vial being the medicine to cure your symptoms...and it being the poison that would cause your premature death..." Draco held the tiny vial up to catch the light of the room, "...is in the dose." He took Harry's hand and gently placed the vial in the palm of his hand.

Harry took it, but his ears were ringing. His mind was strangely blank, having lost all coherent thought at the sound of his first name on Draco's lips. He shivered as Draco's hand lingered on his own for a second too long, their gazes locked on each other.

Somehow the two had gotten closer. Inches now separated them and Harry marveled at the fairness of Draco's skin, unblemished, perfect. "You're...really brilliant, you know that?" Harry said without thinking. His body felt warm, hot, his heart beginning to race as his magic stirred keenly at being so close to the blonde. He would only need to lean forward, and so he did, slowly, he was so close--Draco exhaled, shaky, nervous maybe, his grey eyes darkening as they trailed down to watch Harry's mouth--and Harry felt the warmth of Draco's face, caressing, closer, closer until there was nothing, and then the softest, lightest brush of lips against lips, the sharp intake of breath from Harry or Draco before Harry moved forward, pressing his mouth fully against the other, grabbing his hips--the vial safely on the table--his magic now free over his skin, wrapping itself around the both of them and sending tremors of pure pleasure and power down their spines, and Harry didn't think he'd felt so overwhelmed; he wanted more. He slid his tongue over Draco's bottom lip, seeking entrance, not expecting the small sound of desperate need it elicited from the blonde, before pushing him gently towards the counter, all the while exploring his mouth, tasting mint, their tongues entwined and Draco finally reached up, his hands at Harry's neck and in his hair. Harry's hands where gentle, careful when he felt the counter against Draco's back, pressing their bodies flush together and startling himself at the feeling of Draco's arousal against his own. He pulled away from the kiss, breathless, and opened his eyes. Draco looked absolutely beautiful: his face flushed and his eyes were unfocused, glazed with need. Unable to resist, Harry leaned forward again, but froze as he heard footsteps just outside the door to the lab.

They looked at one another in panic before Draco shoved Harry towards the table, nearly flinging him into the cauldron. Luckily, Harry caught himself just in time. He threw Draco a dirty look, who responded with a guilty shrug, and quickly looked away again as the door to the lab opened.

Oliver stood at the doorway. "Harry, I..." Oliver started, but paused, looking slowly from Harry to Draco and back again. Harry was mortified, and he hoped beyond hope that he didn't look as disheveled as he felt. He'd managed to reign in his magic, but it was restless, and it swirled around his lower regions, doing nothing to alleviate his arousal. He swallowed and managed a smile of question toward the Auror.

"Er...Harry...I have...I have something I wanted to show you," he said, motioning awkwardly out into the infirmary.

Harry, wanting nothing more than to stay in the potion's lab with Draco, held back his irritation. A glance behind him towards Draco though, showed the blonde having no qualms about making his annoyance apparent, scowling openly before turning away to rummage inside the cabinets.

Amused, Harry nodded. "Okay," he said to Oliver. "I'll see you tomorrow for concealment." Draco looked at him disbelievingly, and Harry, feeling quite bold, shot him a wink.

oOo

Draco tried to keep as silent as possible, breathing heavily, his pulse pounding frantically at his neck and at his temple. The cold night air filled his lungs, cooling down his body as he recovered from a sprint. There was a sudden movement beside him and he reached out, his hand wrapping up firmly around Harry's forearm. A question formed on Harry's lips but Draco shook his head for him to keep silent. He peeked around the corner of the building where they stood hiding.

From his position Draco could see the two rows of Auror barracks--the living quarters that the ATs used during their Stealth and Tracking sessions in the middle of the week. Further down from the barracks, in a clearing he spotted a flag pole at least thirty feet high and the navy blue banner fastened at the top which they were tasked to collect in order to complete their mission. Below it, guarding their prize, were Auror's Robards and Ezra Wilkerson.

There was a huff of impatience behind them and Draco turned around to glare at their other two companions. Unfortunately for Draco, this exercise required for their cohort to complete it together. And so the four of them (Draco, Harry, Weasley, and Thomas) waited semi-quietly trying to figure out their plan of attack.

"Did you want to take the lead again, Weasley?" Draco hissed, releasing his hold on Harry. "Because we all know how well  _that_ turned out last week."

"Shut up," Harry whispered at the pair of them as he eyed the flag pole. He case a tempus charm for the time. "We only have twenty minutes to figure out how to get the banner. From what we gathered last week, running straight at it was the worst mistake anyone could make--sorry. Why don't we split up? Make a proper ambush?" There were noises of agreement (some reluctant) and Harry nodded. He pointed towards the right and said, "Dean, Ron, you two go that way. Your target is Wilkerson. Dra-Malfoy, stay to your left. Keep Robards occupied. I'll try to get the banner from the roofs."

They broke off, Draco hesitating only a fraction of a second as he watched Harry climbing the pipes towards the roof of the building. He refocused his attention and crouched low to the ground, slipping away from the safety of the building and onto open ground. Thankfully, he had the night on his side and the darkness shielded him easily from the Auror's view. He slipped cautiously from barrack and cursed silently as his foot caught on a loose pebble and grabbed the Auror's attention.

He threw his disillusionment charm on just in time, pressing himself against the wall as much as possible. Robards illuminated the area with his wand. Not daring even to breathe, Draco waited a minute, two minutes before Robards finally turned away, mouthing something to Wilkerson and motioning the far side of the clearing. Wilkerson nodded and went to inspect. Draco breathed finally in relief and scanned the outside boundaries of the flagpole. There was no sign of Weasley or Thomas.

He sank once more to the ground, amongst the high grass which was cold and wet. He inched closer and closer. Robards now only ten feet away, the pole just behind the Auror. Then, from the darkness on the other side, Draco caught Thomas amongst the shrubs, signaling to Weasley. The pair maneuvered themselves closer to Wilkerson, who was unaware and walking right towards them. Draco nearly cursed all of them. It was too soon--Harry wasn't even halfway to the flagpole.

Wilkerson of course, soon spotted them hiding in the shrubs and raised a powerful shield against the spells that flew his way. Thomas and Weasley stepped out, engaging the Auror in a duel. Out of the corner of his eye Draco spotted Harry silhouetted on the roof of one of the barracks, racing forward now after presumably figuring out that they'd run out of time. Thinking he should spare Harry all the minutes he could, Draco dropped his disillusionment charm and stood, sending a powerful hex in Robards direction. Robards turned to him in an instant, the remains of his protective shield dropping as he sent the same hex back in Draco's direction. The hex only just missed him as he side-stepped, grazing his cheek and burning the side of his face. He groaned and raised a variety of shield and reflective spells in an effort to keep the Auror at bay. He nearly lost his wand when, in his peripheral vision, Harry flung himself from the roof of the building and onto the pole, a feat even Draco wouldn't have tried without the help of magic.

"Potter!" Wilkerson yelled, catching sight of the raven-haired wizard.

Draco and Robards glanced upwards and Harry waved recklessly from twenty-five feet in the air, clinging to the pole with his legs and arm wrapped around it. He nearly slipped when Robards spell hit the spot where his hand had been, and Draco quickly returned his attention to the Auror.

Their duel was nearly matched with Draco miraculously keeping pace with Robards' curses and spells, returning them with just as much force until a sharp enduring pain shot up from his forearm and to his chest. He flinched and, unable to deflect Robards curse, was flung backwards onto the hard wet ground.

"Did you really think you could out-duel me, Malfoy?"

Draco was breathing hard with exertion, his insides burning as both the curse and pain from the Dark Mark spread through his limbs. He struggled and managed to get on all fours when Harry's voice drifted down to them.

"Robards, look out!" Potter shouted as he send his signature disarming spell towards him. It was all the distraction needed for Robards to glance away and for Draco to send the Auror off his feet and into the air, dropping back to the ground yards away.

Draco's small victory was short lived as a small explosion also sent Weasley and Thomas flying, their cries echoing through the clearing. Wilkerson had now raised his wand towards the pole and Draco was running, tackling the tall man around the waist and bringing him down, but the spell had already been fired. The pole wobbled dangerously and Harry was separated from it, his hands scrabbling for purchase.

Draco tore himself away from Wilkerson and threw himself forward once more. He felt all his breath leave him as Harry crashed heavily down on top of him. They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. Pain shot up through Draco's spine and the back of his head, but the distraction was nothing compared to feeling the weight of Potter lying on top of him, chest to chest, his heavy breathing mixing with his own. For one heart stopping second, Harry's eyes locked on him, eyes that were bright with adrenaline, slowly traveling across Draco's face and down to his mouth which lay only an inch away. Draco was shivering. Whether it was from the pain or anticipation, he didn't know. But with his right arm wrapped loosely around Harry's waist, he figured it was the latter, and his heart fluttered.

"Are you alright, Draco?" Harry asked breathlessly, his eyes thankfully (and regrettably) locking back on Draco's own. His dark hair was gathered on his forehead, on the sides of his face. His glasses were gone, having disappeared sometime in the last minute, and Draco didn't think he'd seen lashes as long as his, so dark against the flush of Harry's skin.

Draco could only nod, overwhelmed as he was with the feel of Harry on top of him and the sound of his name on the other man's lips. The pain in his body was nothing; he felt Harry's magic inside of him once again, dizzying in its intensity and he wanted nothing more than to close the distance between their lips...

"Can you stand?" Harry asked him. He was still as close as ever.

"Well...considering the enormous weight holding me down at the moment, I'll have to say no to that."

Harry laughed, apologizing, before extracting himself carefully away from him. He helped Draco to his feet, fussing at his robes and at his visible injuries, each touch sending a warm shiver through his veins before Draco gently snapped, "Potter, get a hold of yourself."

And not too soon, for the others were also beginning to stand. Weasley and Thomas walked over and Harry reached into his pocket, waving the bue banner up in victory.

Draco couldn't help the smile forming on his face, or the warmth that was suddenly filing his chest. The feeling lingered even after their debriefing, and when they apparated back to Headquarters, he readily agreed to accompany Harry to the infirmary.

oOo

"Severus, you don't understand," Draco said heatedly to the portrait of Severus Snape at Spinner's End a few hours later. He rubbed at his face tiredly and waved the note he'd received from Blaise only ten minutes prior in front of him. "Don't you see what it says? Things are getting pretty fucking serious and if I don't go to this meeting, they'll figure I sided with the Aurors. Not to mention that if I don't go I'll lose some possibly valuable information that Headquarters could use!" Draco paced around the sitting room, the note clenched in his fist.

"Then go back."

Draco rounded on the portrait. "But if I go back, then I'll end up in Azkaban quicker than I can say 'Death Eater!'"

When Severus merely stared at him with a critical eye, Draco sighed and sank into one of the rather stiff armchairs next to him, scanning the sitting room as though he would find some answers amongst the dust filled furniture and unused books strewn about.

It's not like Draco hadn't seen this coming. Eventually he would've had to inform the Department about what the Dark Side was planning. He just hadn't thought it through; the consequences and backlash he might receive from  _both_ sides for spewing valuable information.

Blaise's note was still clenched in his hand. For the hundredth time since he'd received it he smoothed the page out and scanned the words scrawled on the page.

_Friday, Nott Manor_

_Don't forget._

He tore his eyes away from the page and crumpled it in his hands. He resisted the urge to groan in frustration, instead taking a deep breath, regretting it instantly as millions of dust particles entered his lungs. After recovering from his coughing fit, he stood. His face was set.

"Finally figured out you don't need my help after all?" Severus drawled, and although his face was clear of emotion, there was no mistaking the amusement in his deep voice.

Draco didn't respond, but with a final decision in mind, he bid Severus farewell and let himself out.

oOo

A dreary sky and sleet of rain greeted the ATs on Friday afternoon. Their combat and dueling class had finished early; Savage and the other Aurors had been called out on emergency assignments.

Harry had no doubt he knew what the assignments pertained to. Only days before they'd received news of an alarming increase in dark wizard activity, and the entire department was on edge with what news would come later that night. The Daily Prophet had even written a speculation article about the disappearances in the surrounding area. But nothing more than that. The Aurors were some of the few privy to the fact that the disappearances was of the Miller family. And they in fact had been found murdered that very morning. Minister Shacklebolt was likely keeping things quiet while they gathered more concrete information on the case.

But Harry itched to get involved. He felt sick with the possibilities of the Dark Side rising once again, and angry that he wouldn't have the chance since he was still in training. He walked down the hall where the Auror offices were, moving aside as the Aurors rushed in and out of the department. He passed some of the cubicles, glancing at pictures of known Dark Wizards, maps, and clippings that lined the walls. He found himself stopping in front of the Head Auror's secretary and requesting to talk to Robards. After a minute of waiting, he was let through.

"Come in," Robards said after Harry's knock on the office door. Robards was standing by his desk, rifling through reports in a manner that seemed second-nature. There were two empty mugs on the table, and a third that Robards held in his hand. Without looking up, Robards said, "Mr. Potter, training has been cancelled for today. They will, however, resume tomorrow morning so I suggest you catch up on your defense material."

It was a clear dismissal even before Harry had said anything. But Harry wasn't going to be deterred so easily. "Sir, the murder of the Miller family. It wasn't just a random killing, was it?"

Robards looked at him with narrowed eyes. He placed his mug on the table and straightened. "That, Mr. Potter, has nothing to do with you."

"I would like to get involved with your permission," Harry pressed.

"Not likely. As much as your interest is appreciated, you are not qualified," Robards replied easily.

"But--"

"The answer is no, Mr. Potter."

"I think--"

"Don't," Robards said firmly. Harry shut his mouth. "You have an evaluation with me in a few weeks' time, Mr. Potter. I suggest you focus your attention on that."

"Yes, sir."

"You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, holding back his frustration. He had just turned to leave when the small sound of a bell sounded in the office. Robards sighed.

"Yes, Beatrice?" Robards said aloud.

"I apologize for the interruption, Auror Robards," the secretary's voice said. "Mr. Malfoy is requesting an audience."

Draco? Harry frowned. He looked to Robards for a hint of clarification but his face remained neutral.

"Not unless he is mortally wounded, I would like you to hold all requests for audience for the rest of the day, Beatrice. Do you understand?"

There was no reply. Harry had reached the door. He turned the handle. Another sound of a bell.

"Mr. Malfoy said you'd be very interested to hear what he has to say..." another moment of silence and then, "about the rise of a new Dark Wizard..."

Harry's stomach dropped unpleasantly, his blood running cold. Had he heard correctly? The door was being opened for him. Robards stood over him.

"Potter, you're dismissed," Robards repeated for the second time.

Harry nodded and turned once more to go. He glanced at Draco and their eyes locked. His eyes were becoming familiar; the silver eyes regarded him with alarm at first, then calmly, and there was the smallest turn of the lips--a smile before the blonde passed by  and into the office behind him.

oOo

“A new Dark Wizard?” Oliver Wood said with a raised eyebrow. He and Harry were sitting on their brooms, high in the air on the level twelve Quidditch pitch. The roof had been transfigured, allowing them to have the wide open space of the sky above. The sky had darkened considerably and though they couldn’t feel how cold it was, the gray clouds overhead loomed formidably. They leaned their backs against the high walls of one of the stands, their brooms tucked under their knees for support.

Harry nodded. “It’s impossible isn’t it? Haven’t all the Death Eaters been caught?” He looked as though he wanted to believe it, but doubt filled his green eyes.

Oliver wanted nothing more but to reassure him. “Yes, Harry, but that means nothing,” he told him. “There is always a resurgence of former allies to the Dark side. Some that come out of hiding and are recruiting new forces.”

“And that’s what’s happening now? They’re recruiting?”

Oliver knew he shouldn’t be speaking about this. Especially since Harry was only an Auror in Training and he should be focused on his studies rather than the disappearances that have been plaguing the department. But the young Gryffindor always had a way of getting things to go his way. He was a natural at it.

Or maybe Oliver was just weak.

“That’s what we think, yes. But we’re getting blocked at every corner. We keep following false leads and that kind of thing can set us back weeks.”

“There’ve been more disappearances haven’t there? Connecting to the Ministry?” Harry asked.

Oliver raised his eyebrow again. “You are much too curious for your own good, Harry.” Harry merely shrugged, waving his leg back and forth as he frowned at the Quidditch pitch below, reminding Oliver more of the boy at Hogwarts than the young, strong man he’d become.

Oliver continued when Harry looked at him again, “Antoine Miller, Senior Auror, and member of the Board of Trustees to the Minister. We have reason to believe that the families of the Ministry, specifically those closest to the Minister and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement are being targeted. The Miller’s deaths were no mere coincidence. Not anymore.”

“Who are the other families?”

“Eliza Olsdal, also from the Board of Trustees and Hewitt and Steven from our Department. Luckily they didn’t receive any permanent damage.”

Hewitt and Steven had been thoroughly shaken when they’d arrived back from their assignment near the Scottish border, Oliver remembered. But they’d been unable to identify the culprits behind their attacks. For now they were just happy to be alive, and Oliver couldn’t blame them.

“Why hasn’t that been mentioned in the paper? You would think that was important information for the public to know?”

“You’d think,” Oliver agreed. “It was actually the Board of Trustees who partnered with the Prophet. They don’t want the public to panic like it did four years ago.”

Harry huffed his annoyance. “I could help, Oliver,” Harry said, and Oliver had to think fast on his reply.

“Robards already gave you an answer,” he said noncommittal, then raised his hands when Harry gave him a smoldering look. “If it were up to me, you’d be assigned to raids alongside myself.”

“Get a lot of action, do you?” Harry cocked an eyebrow and Oliver laughed at the clear jab, since his raids were few and far between.

“See if I ever give you a listening ear,” Oliver shot at him and sped off on his broom, smiling when he noticed Harry following after him.

oOo

Friday night had come too soon for Draco. He felt only slightly prepared for what would come. He made his entrance into the Nott manor, drying his clothes that’d been drenched in the November storm. He had no idea how this meeting would go and, frankly, Draco was panicked at the idea of being there. Of things going wrong. His skin crawled at the thought of seeing Blaise again after not having seen him since mid-October. He just hoped he would survive the night unscathed. He’d gone through much worse after all. At least Draco had the presence of mind. He had no doubt that he was doing the right thing, no matter what the outcome would be at the year’s closing.

Things had been getting pretty serious. The department was running on overtime trying to solve the mystery behind the death of Auror Antoine Miller and of his family, along with the disappearances and attacks on the other Ministry officials, and while Draco had his suspicions about it, this was one thing he was not at liberty to discuss with anybody outside the circle of Sons.

But Robards had made it quite simple. Thankfully. Nothing embellished and no empty promises. Just the way Draco had expected. All he needed to do was fulfill his part in the plan, and hope that Robards would keep his word in the end. Or it would all be for naught…

Draco had arrived early at the manor, but it seemed that the others were eager to hear news as well, for the main parlor was full when he entered. He dismissed the house elves that popped up with their usual polite offers of wine and food, and shed his cloak. He embraced forearms with Theodore, Pucey, the Carrow sisters, Higgs, Greengrass, Rosier, Goyle, and inevitably, with Blaise, who grabbed at his arm, a smile twisting on his darkly handsome face.

“Good to see you, Drake.”

“Blaise,” was all Draco said in greeting, was all he _could_ say as his stomach churned, his insides twisting in protest at the touch. He wanted to flee from that gaze; he couldn’t take it—even this was too much. He wanted to scream, hating, cursing himself for letting Blaise affect him this way, for letting all the unwanted memories wash over him at a dizzying speed. And he still couldn’t do anything about it. All this in the span of five seconds that seemed to go on forever until Blaise, finally, finally let go of his arm.

By the end of the exchanges, Draco was exhausted. His arm was tinging so unpleasantly that if he hadn’t needed it, he felt he might just cut it off. Everyone settled back in their seats, oblivious to Draco’s internal struggle. He forced himself into the only available seat next to Blaise and fought not to make his pain apparent. 

Theodore finally stood, his customary rich black robes following his movement. “I think,” he started, “that a congratulations is an order. Rosier not only managed to recruit more wizards into our ranks in preparation for the release of the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle,” and here he motioned for the house elves to pass around glasses with absinthe, “but he managed to rid the world of Antoine Miller, the very Auror responsible for putting his father in Azkaban.” Theodore smirked as the parlor erupted with cheers of celebration. They drank to more successful operations in the future. Draco only pretended a sip. He placed it on the arm rest, where it quickly disappeared.

So Draco’s suspicions had been right, he frowned as he watched Damien Rosier boast about his murders…but it did nothing to lessen the blow. If Rosier was already willing and ready to kill, then the Aurors would have a lot more coming to them in the future.

When the parlor finally settled, Theodore continued, “Alright, alright. This is all great news, but the days are getting closer and we cannot afford a misstep. We are _so_ close to our goal and these next few weeks are the most crucial. The Aurors are relentless. Every day they grow closer and closer; we need to keep our eyes open. Malfoy we need you now more than ever. Any hint…,” he paused, “…a whisper can save our skins…”

Draco felt all eyes upon him, the room turning its attention to him, expectant. He struggled not to turn away, thinking fast. “The Aurors are at a standstill. As of this evening, the department has its suspects, but nothing concrete. Nothing is leading to us, but it’s only a matter of time before they start making house calls.” Out of habit, he stroked his forearm where the Dark Mark lay. “They know that they are being targeted and they’re taking precautions so that what happened to Antoine Miller will not happen again. No more easy kills.” He glanced at Rosier as he said this, smirking at the scowl he received in return.

“Is that all?”

“It’s all that I know.”

Theodore nodded in approval. “Our headquarters will be ready soon. You have all been automatically keyed into the wards. Blaise you are its secret-keeper so be sure that it stays hidden. Thankfully, we have arranged the wards so that only those with the Dark Mark will be able to enter; even the Ministry won’t be able to get to us.”

The rest of the meeting went by gratefully fast and it was only midnight when everyone began departing. Which meant that Draco would still have some time to rest before training tomorrow morning and practice with Harry later in the evening. With this in mind, Draco bid the others a fair night and slipped into his cloak.

He ignored the eyes that bore onto his back as he walked out of the parlor, and picked up his pace as he reached the rich hallways of the manor, deafly ignoring the call of his name. Damn Theodore for not having lifted his apparition wards this time. He’d have to walk all the way to the gate before being able to apparate, which meant there was plenty of time for—

“What’s your rush?” That voice. Those hands. The hallway was empty but for the two of them.

“No rush,” Draco said as he walked briskly. The front door wasn’t far.

Blaise huffed in amusement. A hand grabbed at his elbow; he moved it away.

“Can’t even look at me?” Blaise said, his voice filled with hurt. But it was artificial. He knew that now. Everything about him had been that way. Nothing had been real… “Drake…Draco, wait.”

Draco clenched his jaw and the hand grabbed at his elbow again. He was turned around and he tensed. “Let me go,” Draco said calmly, though his heart raced at the contact. Blaise stood in front of him, holding him still by his arms. Slowly he ran his hands up and down Draco’s arms and smiled.

“I’ve missed you,” he said.

Draco froze at the unfamiliar words, staring into those dark eyes in disbelief. They stared right back, boring into him and Draco was grateful to have mastered shielding his mind. Nonetheless, they bore into him, making him shiver. He scowled and moved away.

“It’s true,” Blaise insisted, his hands now moving down to Draco’s waist, pulling him closer, inhaling deeply. “Fuck, Draco, you don’t know how much I missed—”

Draco shoved him away, his eyebrows creased, his skin crawling. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he snapped, turning to walk away again, not waiting for an answer.

“I’m telling you, for fuck’s sake, I want you back!” Blaise shot at him, managing to turn him around again. His eyes were pleading. “I’m sorry.”

Draco couldn’t believe it. He didn’t allow himself to believe those words and he wanted to laugh because deep down he knew they were lies. And now, while searching Blaise’s face, and the full lips that had grown familiar to him in the last three years, he felt nothing. Nothing but disgust and regret and anger; he swallowed with difficulty, willing the bile back down his throat.

“I don’t know whether or not you’ve noticed my absence,” Draco said coldly, as he pulled himself away from the other man, “but I would think that was hint enough about where you and I stand.”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t do this.”

Draco didn’t reply to that and turned for the door, only feet away.

“You’ll have no one better,” Blaise said.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Blaise grabbed him once more.

Draco couldn’t help the sound of pain and surprise that left his mouth. Blaise held his arm in a vice grip and Draco was alarmed at the quick change in his attitude. “You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Blaise said dangerously, his breath hot in his ear.

“You’ll do well to let go of me, Blaise,” Draco said, well aware of what the man was capable of. He managed to mask the uneasy feeling in his voice. He finally had the sense to use his wand and it was directed straight at Blaise’s throat. Blaise merely stared at him, his eyes dark and menacing, before releasing Draco’s arm, holding his hands out in front of him in a manner of surrender. But his face had broken out into the smallest of smiles.

Draco lowered his wand and reached for the door. His hand was at the handle.

Then from behind, Blaise’s voice had him frozen in an instant:

“So…I hear Pansy’s in town.”

oOo

_End Chapter Eleven_


	12. Lay Me Down

_warnings: language, m/m content_

oOo

**Sunday, 5 th of November 2000**

The rain fell hard on Sunday morning.

Draco exited the lift, warm with his recent drying charm, and stepped out onto Level Two of the Ministry. His fist clenched and unclenched at his side, an unconscious movement on his part—it helped to ease the dull ache on his forearm.

Headquarters was as busy as ever; the Aurors mingled at their desks, cubicles, and offices, flipping through pieces of parchment and news clippings and discussing possible movements that the Department should take concerning the Miller case. Draco passed through them, the Aurors paying him no mind; it seemed that they were finally starting to ignore his presence as former Death Eater, though Draco could only hope that their tolerance would be long-lasting.

His shoes clipped smartly across the clean marble floor of the hallways, his path leading him to the study room that had by now become familiar. Annoyingly enough, the rapid beat of his heart and sweat in the palms of his hands as he came closer to the door to study room six, had become familiar as well. The nervousness that he felt at the very pit of his stomach made him grit his teeth.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Draco muttered when his foot caught on a raised floor tile. Thankfully, no one was around to see his blunder, and he reached the door without further slips. He reached for the handle. It definitely wasn’t Draco’s character to be this nervous about anybody, he reflected. Which is why this left him so unsettled—because he didn’t know how to act _normal_. He feared he was becoming too obvious, and unbecoming as a Malfoy should behave where a partner was concerned. Not that he was considering Potter—Harry—as such. Except of course, if you considered that they were partners in training…

Draco hesitated, and gave himself a mental shake as he faced the door. He hadn’t had much time to reflect on what had happened inside the potion’s lab nearly a week before. He’d been trying not to, since it was difficult enough for him to concentrate during training without the thought of how Potter’s—Harry’s—mouth had felt against his own. But, during moments when he did let himself dwell, he was filled with an indescribable feeling…Harry hadn’t brought it up again afterwards, or tried anything like that again, so that Draco would find himself thinking that it had all been a dream, that he’d made it all up in his head, and that, as he’d always suspected, the fumes in the lab had finally gotten to his brain—that, or it had been a nightmare. Though of course, Draco mused as he dithered about in front of the door to the study room like a twat, it could also be that Potter—Harry—just hadn’t had another chance to catch him alone…

When Draco finally entered the study room, he found it empty. And when noon rolled around a bit later without any sign of Harry, Draco got up from his armchair and left the room, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he walked back out into the hallway.

oOo

Harry was troubled.

He was standing in the main sitting room of Grimmauld Place, hands on his hips, the house seeming a little too quiet for comfort. He bent down and checked under the coffee table for the third time, just to be sure. But there was nothing there. More importantly, there was _no one_ there. And he’d searched everywhere: the bedrooms, the baths, the kitchens, and even the cellar—but he was now forced to admit that the game of hide-and-seek that he’d been playing with a certain two-year-old had gotten out of hand. He chewed on his lip.

“Teddy?” he called out. He was careful to leave the nervousness out of his voice. There was no answer. He did another once-over of the sitting room, squinting against the afternoon light that streamed through the windows, gathered that there wasn’t anything big enough for Teddy to crawl into, and went once more out into the hallway for the stairs. He hadn’t checked the attic yet. There was no need to question how in the world Teddy would’ve gotten up there—the little devil had a knack for accidental apparition.

When a quick scan of the attic failed to bring up the toddler, Harry wrung his hair. How hard was it, really, to babysit a two-year-old? He’d defeated Voldemort, for Merlin’s sake! This should’ve been a walk in the park.

A tingle at the back of his neck made him turn around in alarm. The wards at the entrance of Grimmauld Place had alerted him, signaling a visitor. Harry frowned at this, wondering if he was expecting anybody at this hour. Andromeda wasn’t due to pick Teddy up until tomorrow morning, and Hermione would’ve just used the floo.

Harry shrugged. No matter; chances were that it was a novice journalist who wasn’t aware of the traps Harry had set up specifically for anyone wanting to get a free photograph of him inside his home. He smiled as he remembered the last man from the Prophet who had been subjected to a well-deserved levicorpus and had hung there for hours before anybody helped him down. 

Besides, nobody would be able to enter unless the door was opened from the inside.

Just then he heard the familiar heavy creak of the front door opening, and he paled. _Teddy!_

Harry stepped away from the attic and apparated to the bottom of the stairs in a flash, his wand out and ready in his hand. He swept Teddy away from the door, protectively, and came face-to-face with—

“Malfoy!” Harry said, his stomach fluttering in shock and surprise.

“Potter! Get me the fuck down from here this instant!” Draco said harshly as he hung in the air, face-to-groin rather, in front of Harry. Draco was struggling with something in his trouser pockets, possibly trying to grab his wand. The movement caused him to twirl slowly as he hung upside down in the air; his hair had fallen away from his face and the platinum blond strands now hung loose, swaying in the light breeze.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant—”

“ _Potter, I’ll hex your fucking balls off if you don’t let me down right now.”_

Harry snickered, but quickly relented at the seething glare that was sent his way, setting Draco down on the ground as gently as he could with his wand. Draco picked himself off of the ground, standing at the landing now, and smoothing down his hair. He was well-dressed, looking out of place when compared to Harry’s unkempt form. His customary onyx black cloak was absent; instead, he wore a light gray jumper layered smartly over a white collared shirt. His slacks were the usual black, though much more formfitting than what Harry was used to seeing, so that he had a hard time trying to stop himself from staring as Draco dusted them off. Finally, when it seemed that Draco was satisfied with his appearance (and the tinge of pink on his cheeks had faded), he glared at Harry.

“You greet your guest so poorly, it’s a wonder anybody comes to visit you, Potter,” Draco derided.

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t get a lot of visitors.” Harry returned the scowl from Draco with his own grin before saying, “That wasn’t meant for you, actually. They were for the journalist and photographers that hound me every minute of my life.” He tested the wards, looking for a reason as to why the levicorpus had worked on Draco. Not finding anything of consequence, Harry shrugged. Draco gave him a strange look before his eyes traveled down to the boy in his arms.

“Oh, this is, erm, this is Teddy,” Harry introduced, very aware that the toddler had mimicked his own hair and eye color, and that more likely than not, they looked to be related. “He’s my godson. Say, ‘hi,’ Teddy. Say, ‘hi.’” Teddy focused his deep green eyes at Draco mistrustfully before hiding his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry sighed and shook his head.

“Friendly fellow,” Draco said stiffly, though there was a small curve on his lips.

“Normally I can’t get him to shut up around company. He—” Harry paused, narrowing his eyes behind Draco’s shoulder where he’d spotted movement in the trees across the street. Sure enough, he spotted a head peeking out from behind a tree trunk before it quickly disappeared out of sight. “Fuck,” he muttered before taking Draco’s hand and pulling him inside the house. He slammed the door shut. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Fuck!” Teddy repeated.

“No, no, Teddy. You don’t say those words,” Harry chastised. His mind was running, already thinking of possible headlines for tomorrow morning’s Prophet. He cursed again, angry now that they’d probably gotten a picture of Teddy. His hand was buzzing where he had grabbed Draco, but the feeling came as an afterthought. He bit his lip.

“Journalists?” Draco asked after a moment.

“Yeah… _Fuck_ , the Prophet’s going to have a field day,” Harry said.

“You don’t think they had a chance to photograph—”

“Of course they did!” Harry snapped. Draco raised an eyebrow at him and Harry sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he allowed himself to walk away towards the sitting room, disappearing from the hallway and into the room. Harry sighed. He turned to Teddy and poked him gently. “You, Mr. Edward Lupin, are in very big trouble. What have I told you about opening the door without permission, hm?”

He hoisted the toddler more securely on his hip, just as Teddy shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “I opened it.” Harry huffed and followed Draco into the sitting room.

Draco was sitting on the sofa, one knee over the other, tucking a loose strand of platinum blond hair behind his ear. His other hand clenched almost nervous-like by his thigh, before he looked at Harry and said, “You’ve been neglecting your responsibilities.

Harry, who had just set Teddy down on the floor, looked at him in confusion as he sat in one of the armchairs. Was he referring to Teddy? But that really wasn’t any of his business in the first place.

“Practice, Potter,” Draco clarified with a tone of exasperation, as though he’d read Harry’s mind. “You weren’t at practice this morning.”

“Oh,” Harry replied. He hadn’t forgotten about their usual Sunday meetups in study room six; Harry had actually been looking forward to it after the exhausting week of training they’d had. The baby-sitting session with Teddy, however, had come up last minute, and Harry hadn’t wanted to say no, especially since he spent so little time with his godson already. “I should’ve sent an owl…This just sort of popped up,” he said, motioning to Teddy, who was now at the coffee table working attentively on a Rubik’s cube. “I couldn’t say no.”

Draco gave a small nod of understanding, and glanced around. “In any case, I just came to remind you to work on your exercises. The sooner you have control over your magic, the sooner we can go back to our regular Sunday schedules.”

“I should’ve realized you had more important things to do. Forgive me,” Harry said, sardonically.

“Of course I have more important things to do. But that’s not what I meant, you twit,” Draco said, his eyes flashing in annoyance. He glanced away from Harry, his expression betraying discomfort. He stood up the next moment and straightened his collar. “That’s all I came to say, anyhow…I’ll see myself out.”

Harry stood too. “Wait.”

Draco paused.

“Stay.”

“What?”

“Why don’t I get you a drink?” Harry offered.

“That won’t be nece—”

“The men from the Prophet are probably still out there,” Harry said, not divulging the fact that Draco was keyed into the wards, and he was now allowed to apparate to and from Grimmauld Place if he wanted to. “Just-just wait here. I’ll be back.”

\-----------------

Draco watched as Harry walked out of the room, leaving him alone, and the little creature in his charge.

“One…two…gween…white…” Teddy mumbled to himself as he turned the cube aimlessly this way and that in his hands. After a few minutes he finally seemed to notice that Harry had gone elsewhere and he looked about, his gaze eventually climbing up to Draco, who stood three feet away. Draco raised his eyebrows at him. “Hawwy?” the little creature asked.

“Harry’s apparently gone to get us drinks,” Draco told him. “I’m hoping for a bit of firewhiskey myself.” Teddy stared at him with judge-filled eyes before pouting and looking towards the doorway. His hair was flowing in different shades of dark brown before settling into a startling and hideous shade of bright blue. So this was Harry’s godson. He hadn’t even known Harry to be a godfather, let alone to this boy. Edward Lupin, Harry had called him. Draco made a face. This was Nymphadora’s boy then, he thought with another face, which meant that he’d inherited the metamorphmagus trait. Not only that, but that also made Edward Lupin his distant cousin.

“Hawwwwy!”

Draco winced, watching Teddy’s slowly crumbling face in front of him. He panicked. “Oh, Merlin. Why don’t we _not_ do that or Harry will think I hexed you or something.”

“Haaawwwyyy!!”

“Fuck—I mean—don’t…he’ll be back.” Draco reached out tentatively.

“I’m back,” Harry announced.

“Thank Merlin,” he breathed, retracting his hand and stepping away.

“Here,” Harry said with barely concealed amusement and handed what looked to be like a sippy cup to the toddler. The little devil took it happily, his piercing blue eyes locked on Draco. "And this is for you.”

Draco took his cup of tea with a thanks and sat. He took a drink and made a face.

“I poured a bit of Ogden’s in it. Didn’t think you’d mind,” Harry said with a twitch of his lips.

“Much appreciated,” Draco replied, cursing the raven-haired man who had probably placed a listening charm on the room before having gone away.

oOo

“I’ll be back after I put him to bed,” Harry said with a sleeping Teddy secure in his arms.

Draco watched as the pair left the sitting room, his stomach flipping as Harry turned back once to look at him. The sky outside the windows had grown dark—the day now at its end. The fire had been lit and the room was warm and comfortable. Draco stood up once more, debating whether to announce his departure. He’d been doing that all day, pretending some excuse that he had things to do, but Harry would shut him down and Draco had been forced (asked) to stay. Draco obliged every time, not minding at all that he was spending an entire day in the company of Harry Plus One. But a nagging feeling had accompanied him since he arrived: that he shouldn’t be here. That he should be focusing on things that mattered. That there were so many things happening in his life and _every_ single one of them could blow up on him if he made a wrong move. So guilt had now come into the picture.

He paced slowly around the room, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t being selfish for being here, and so what if he was spending his free time keeping company with Potter? He wasn’t doing anything bad. He stopped pacing. But if the department were to find out about it, or if, Merlin forbid, Blaise found out about what he was doing, then he would be risking not only his life, but Harry’s life as well. A flash of hot anger ran through him at the thought. No, he wouldn’t let anything happen to Harry. Not now.

With resolve, Draco turned to head towards the door. He stopped.

Harry had come back into the sitting room. His hands were in his trouser pockets, and he leaned against the doorway casually. The light from the fireplace danced lazily across Harry’s tanned skin, across the black of his hair, which Draco could tell he’d tried to comb, though it had done nothing to tame the wild locks. Draco’s stomach fluttered. He could _feel_ the power of Harry’s magic, as he had all day; it filled the room, pressed on his skin like warm water, unabated. 

“You weren’t trying leave again were you?” Harry asked, an eyebrow quirked.

“I do have somewhere—”

“ _Or_ ,” Harry said slowly with a small smile, “you can sit down and let me decide when I want you to go.”

Draco stared. He was positive that it had been unintentional, but the tone in which those words had come out rooted him to the floor where he stood. His skin was buzzing, recognizing Harry’s magic as it settled around the room. When he realized that he wasn’t breathing, he berated himself.

“A bit demanding, are we?” Draco recovered with a smirk.

“If you’d wanted to leave, Draco, you would’ve left hours ago,” Harry said. His smile was gone, replaced with a look that clearly said they were thinking about the same thing. The emerald gaze that had become so familiar in the past weeks and months seemed to burn through Draco, as though he were trying to read Draco’s mind, and although Draco knew his shields were as strong as ever, his silence must have betrayed him, for the corners of Harry’s mouth moved upwards in a knowing smile.

Draco responded with a breath of amusement. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning during training… _Harry_ ,” Draco said lightly, satisfaction seeping through him when Harry’s face fell a fraction. Draco walked towards the door, his legs thankfully staying upright, and was just about to pass through and into the hallway when he was grabbed by the arm. The touch was gentle, suggestive. He was turned on the spot, moving to come face-to-face with Harry. Draco’s heart leaped; Harry was now only inches away from him, startling him with the intensity of his gaze. Green eyes wandered down to watch Draco’s lips. He licked his lips, and heard Harry’s breathing falter.

“Stay,” said Harry quietly.

Draco doesn’t remember replying. All thought left him as Harry’s face drew closer. His breath was warm on Draco’s face, hovering only centimeters away before their lips met tentatively, nervous, gentle. Draco’s eyes fluttered closed. Harry stepped closer, encouraged, and fully captured his lips, holding Draco against the door frame which dug into his back, but he didn’t care. Harry was kissing him again and he didn’t think he’d felt anything quite like it, perfect. He reached up, hands shaking, tangling them in the soft black hair that would so annoy him in the past, pulling Harry close, closer. Harry let out a groan; his hands were on Draco’s waist and he was pressing himself against him, his tongue running at the edge of his lips seeking entrance. Draco was breathless—the taste of Harry’s tongue made him shiver, expectant, sending an uncontrollable wave of pleasure straight below his navel. He pushed back, moving Harry so that he was now against the wall and Draco had the upper hand, but it didn’t last long; Harry pulled at the waist of his slacks and Draco had to fight to keep his knees from giving way, and somehow Draco was pushed gently, maneuvered so that when the back of his knees hit something solid, he fell back on the sofa, on his back, feeling exposed only for a moment before Harry’s weight was over him and—oh, Merlin—their bodies pressed flush against one another, and their mouths connected once more in a blissful embrace.

Their tongues danced together, exploring, tasting and Harry’s hands grabbed at his sides, pulling at his shirt and then pinning him down against the sofa with a force that left him shaking. Harry’s magic was stifling, making his body warm, hot, his skin breaking out in goosebumps, his insides drunk with the power that seeped through to him; he was gasping, his clothes, his slacks were much, much too tight, straining as he pushed up to meet Harry’s thrusts which were too slow, too gentle, too soft for his tastes, he wanted _more._

When Harry pulled away, Draco slowly opened his eyes, resigned perhaps, and thinking that it was over. But Harry didn’t seem to want to stop, for he pulled at the hem of Draco’s jumper before pulling it off completely and letting it fall to the ground. Their mouths met again, their kissing was both hard and gentle. Harry’s nimble hands were now at the buttons of Draco’s collared shirt, unbuttoning and sending pleasant shocks through him as his fingertips met the skin underneath. He was just about to slip the shirt off of Draco’s shoulders when Draco suddenly tensed, his hands moving to stop Harry. Draco’s stomach had dropped unpleasantly, thoughts that he’d be shunned if Harry were to see the mark on his arm swam in his head.

Harry pulled away fast. “Fuck, Draco. I’m—fuck—I’m sorry,” Harry said, starting to leave from between his legs and berating himself for something. “I didn’t think you’d still—shit.”

Draco frowned, “What are you—”

Just then, the fireplace roared to life, and they froze where they were. The fire glowed green for an instant, blinding them, before someone appeared at the hearth, tall and lean and red-haired. Draco’s stomach dropped once more with dread and anger and panic. Harry still leaned over him a bit, not having been able to fully disentangle himself from between Draco’s legs, and Draco, with his shirt unbuttoned, exposing his chest and abdomen, met the shocked expression on Ronald Weasley’s face with a deep, loathing scowl. 

He didn’t stay for long.

In fact, after a colorful array of sworn oaths, Weasley turned quickly and disappeared back into the fireplace, deftly ignoring Harry’s calls for him. Harry had rushed forward, possibly to grab Weasley before he left. His hand was at the mantel and Draco could see the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders—for he was facing away from him—possibly wondering whether to go after him. Draco stayed where he was on the sofa, watching almost without feeling as Harry turned to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed, his expression troubled. Draco said nothing. When Harry threw floo powder into the fireplace and stepped in, Draco watched him go, watched as the green flames died out with his departure, and finally, after the fire had returned back to normal, crackling and innocent, Draco sat up.

Slowly, he buttoned his shirt, slipped into his jumper. His hands shook, and when he stood, his legs were weak. But they held, and without a second glance around the room, he disapparated.

oOo

_End Chapter Twelve_

_Thank you all for your support and comments so far!_

_Please leave more reviews and a smiley--they give me strength. Much love xxx_


	13. Fragile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million apologies for not updating sooner. This is definitely not the entire chapter that I was planning, but I wanted to post something already since it's been months. Please enjoy and don't forget to leave a comment and review!! Much love xxx

**_warnings: language, m/m content_  **

oOo

**Monday, 6 th of November**

“Do you mind telling me what the fuck this is?” Robards spat at the pair of them, throwing a copy of that morning’s Prophet on the desk in front of them.

Harry was standing in Robards’ office, arms crossed, fighting the urge to lift a hand and run it through his hair in frustration. The halls of Level Two were crowded with journalists, and they’d swarmed around Harry as soon as he’d arrived, yelling questions at him and urging him to comment on yesterday’s “incident.” Thankfully, he hadn’t spent too much time with them, as he’d been dragged into the Head Auror’s office straight afterward. Draco stood next to him now, silent and straight-faced.

“ _Well?_ ” Robards demanded when neither of them responded.

Harry glanced down at the paper. He’d read the article already; he’d been waiting for it that morning, dreading what it would say. Even now he winced at the photograph: It showed him standing at the door of Grimmauld Place, his face set, his wand out and pointing at Draco, who hung upside down in the air. It looked as though Harry had cast the spell, cursed Draco only moments before. Teddy was in Harry’s protective arms; at least the Prophet had had the good grace to blur his godson’s face before publishing the photograph. Harry’s eyes drifted upwards, to the bold headline, and he scowled, anger boiling inside of him.

**Harry Potter’s Unstable Relationship with Former Death Eater** , the headlines read.

“It was just a misunderstanding,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“Just a misunderstanding?” Robards repeated with a scoff.

“They’re blowing it out of proportion,” Harry dared. “I only—”

“In the past few hours I’ve had memo after memo flying into my office throwing accusations about housing a known Death Eater—as if I don’t have anything better to do! Why don’t you go out there and tell the fucking Prophet that it was _just a misunderstanding_ , and see if they mind publishing a different article!” Robards cursed at him and turned away, his hands massaging at his temples.

Harry was just about to say something, perhaps to say that Draco was not a Death Eater but Robards turned back towards him before he opened his mouth.

“If I see either of you pulling that kind of _shite_ again, you can kiss the Auror Department goodbye.”

A familiar sound of bells sounded around them.

“What, Beatrice?” Robards barked.

“Sorry, Auror Robards,” the secretary’s voice said, “The Head of the Department would like a word with you in his office.”

“Tell him to fuck off!”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’ll let him know you’ll be there within the hour,” Beatrice said.

The room was quiet again, save for the angry breathing coming from the Head Auror. He stared at them for a moment longer before lifting a finger and pointing it at Harry. “Headquarters doesn’t need this type of attention, Potter. Especially right now. Next time you feel the need to go showing off— _don’t._ ”

Harry bristled, indignant. “It wasn’t even like that—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Get out of my sight.”

Harry scowled, but didn’t dare say anything more to Robards. He glanced at Draco, and they started to move away together.

“Not you, Malfoy. You stay here,” Robards said.

Harry tried to catch Draco’s eye, but the blonde hadn’t graced him with so much as a side-glance since they’d arrived at Headquarters. Disheartened and terribly curious, Harry left the Head Auror’s office. He ignored the stares and looks of question waiting for him as soon as he stepped out. No doubt the Aurors had read the article and had drawn up their own conclusions of what had really happened.

The article, unsurprisingly, had been way off the mark, speculating that Harry had had enough of Draco’s Death Eater ways and wanted to be rid of him. It also included an eye witness report who claimed that Harry had dragged Draco inside by the hair, and that the pair hadn’t shown their faces for the rest of the night, _“Has the Boy-Who-Lived become the Boy-Who-Murdered? Turn to page eleven to find out.”_

Harry heaved a sigh. He wondered whether he should wait outside Robards’ office for Draco, but thought better of it when the whispers reached his ears. He paid them little mind as he started towards one of the hallways. He frowned when he thought about Draco and Robards; they seemed to be having private conversations more often than Harry thought appropriate, and he itched to find out why. Especially since the last visit between the two had concerned the possibility of a new Dark wizard, a story which had been nagging at Harry since the day he’d heard of it. But as distracting as moments with Draco alone had become, Harry just hadn’t had the chance to bring it up.

A flurry of images from the previous night came to him, forming a pleasant knot in his stomach. But the warmth was soon replaced with guilt; he’d hoped to find Draco where he left him, but Grimmauld Place had been empty save for Teddy, who had thankfully been fast asleep. What was worse, Harry hadn’t even been able to find Ron after he ran off, and so had gone back home feeling quite put out.

Just then he paused, stopping in the middle of the hallway. His eyebrows furrowed, alarmed as he felt something very out of place: a feeling of dread that wasn’t entirely his own, and yet he felt it spread through his chest and to the tips his fingers, making the small hairs on his arms stand on end. Instinctively, he reached a hand to his chest, turning to look back in the direction from which he’d come…

oOo

 

Draco’s hands were shaking. He hid them in the pockets of his slacks, clenching his fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms. His Dark Mark burned, his head was pounding, and deep inside of him, a curious feeling: anger-confusion-alarm, and he wondered where those feelings had come from.

Robards stared at him for long moments, a deep scowl etched on his scarred face. Draco tried to calm himself, but he dreaded his mentor’s next words.

“I’ve tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, Malfoy,” Robards said finally. “You came to me with your concerns, your _rumors_ , telling me about this new Dark Lord. But I’ve had it up to _here_ with your problems. I don’t need the distraction of a Death Eater, former or no, in my ranks.”

Draco kept his face a blank slate. “I’m no Death Eater,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “and with all due respect, I haven’t done anything wrong since I’ve started training.”

Robards scowl only grew, and he said harshly, “The _only_ reason you started training, Malfoy, was because the Head of the Department made a special request to accept your application!”

Draco froze, his stomach dropping. Robards was looking at him in anger and disgust—nothing out of the ordinary, really—but Draco thought that he saw an inkling of regret for the words that he’d probably not meant to say. And Draco tried to deny it, but found that the words were stuck in his throat. An uncomfortable silence grew in the room and Draco finally looked away from him, holding back a flinch as his dark mark stung.

Robards seemed to gather his professionalism again, and he tapped the edge of his desk with his finger. “Another mishap like today, Malfoy, and I swear you’ll never work for the Ministry again.”

Draco’s throat worked to swallow the lump that had formed there, his anger, loathing, and shock boiling just underneath the surface of his skin. But he said nothing.

“Do I make myself clear?” Robards asked quietly.

“Yes. Sir.”

oOo

Harry found his concentration waning during Poisons and Antidotes that afternoon. The training room was stuffy; the fumes from all their cauldrons filled the room, making him feel as though he were suffocating. He reached a hand to the back of his neck, massaging it in the hopes that it would alleviate some of the tenseness in his muscles.

Ron stood across the table from him, his face red with effort, dicing his ingredients for a mild poison with care and precision. He gave no indication that Harry was there at all, hadn’t even given him a glance, in fact, since he’d entered the room. Instead, he leaned over and spoke to Dean, who at least had the good grace to give him a warm smile.

Draco was on Harry’s left side, an arms-length away, his face unusually pale for the temperature in the room. A light sheen of sweat shone on his forehead, and Harry didn’t think it was from the heat of the room more than it was from whatever was eating at Draco’s mind. Because Harry swore he could almost feel it—and he didn’t how he knew this, it was almost instinct—the feeling of almost-panic, the anger and despondency, though none of it was written on Draco’s face except for the slight crease on his brow.

Harry reached out suddenly, watching as if in slow motion as Draco opened his hand to drop the wrong ingredient into his cauldron. Harry’s hand closed around his, just for a moment, waiting for Draco to acknowledge his small mistake, ignoring the gentle purr of his magic at the contact. Draco’s hand retracted safely away from the cauldron, pulling out of Harry’s grasp. Their eyes met.

A swirl of different emotions reached Harry: confusion, surprise, pain, lingering anger, but most of all, Harry could feel the anxiety rolling off of Draco in waves. Harry frowned, wondering how it was even possible for him to be feeling all of this, worrying that Draco could also feel what Harry felt: concern-wonder-anticipation. All of this in the span of a few seconds, before Draco abruptly turned back to his cauldron.

When Harry turned away, he caught Ron staring at them wide-eyed before quickly looking back down at his own cauldron, ears and neck turning a bright red.

Training couldn’t be over fast enough.

\-------------------------------

Harry hurried down the hallway, squeezing past a group of Aurors, giving a half-hearted greeting in reply to the calls of his name. Auror Williamson had kept him longer after their training session was over in order to teach him the properties of the Burning poison, since Harry had the most trouble brewing it correctly.

It was now past six in the evening, an early day considering their normal training hours. The Daily Prophet journalists seemed to have cleared off from Level Two, though headquarters was still bustling with activity. He ignored the eyes that followed him down the hall, past the offices, until he was thankfully alone again. He came upon study room six and entered before he could think twice about it.

Draco was sitting in one of the armchairs, one knee folded neatly over the other. In his hands he held an unopened pack of cigarettes and he twirled it slowly around, as if contemplating whether to open it. He glanced up when the door shut closed behind Harry. His light gray eyes were guarded, his face a blank mask before he looked away, disinterested.

Harry wanted to sigh. It was strange how _bothered_ he was with the fact that Draco was being this way. And even more so when Harry knew he wouldn’t have cared just a few months ago. But things were different now. Things were changing, and he wanted to curse himself for allowing this small setback on their… _friendship_. He gathered the courage to walk closer to him.

A hundred words were on the tip of his tongue, but what came out was, “You going to open that?”

The corner of Draco’s mouth pulled up in his trademark smirk and a breath of amusement left him. But it was a hollow sound, and it left Harry feeling as though Draco had been waiting for the right words and Harry had gotten them all wrong. Harry couldn’t help his face heating.

Not one to be so easily deterred, Harry walked closer, one hand trailing the surface of the study table. He tried again, “Did…ehm…did Robards give you a hard time?”

Draco stopped twirling his unopened pack of cigarettes, his mouth curiously forming into a hard, thin line. “No,” he said, “no, he didn’t.”

Harry nodded, and sat at the armchair opposite Draco. Draco didn’t look at him. Instead, he stared down at the pack in his hands. The air was thick, weirdly pleasant in a way, and Harry only now realized how calm he felt, how calm his magic was, despite his initial nervousness. That was until Draco asked, “How’d it go with the blood-traitor last night?”

“I couldn’t find him,” Harry answered at length, trying not to sound too disappointed, but thinking that he failed at the hard look Draco threw at him. “No, it’s a good thing, actually,” he found himself explaining, “I wouldn’t have known what to say to him—still wouldn’t know what to say to him if he was standing right outside the door…”

Draco made a noise that sounded a lot like a sardonic ‘of course you wouldn’t,’ and then said in a manner most casual, “So…do you think he’ll—”

“No,” Harry answered in a heartbeat.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“He won’t say anything,” Harry said, trying not blink away from the icy gaze that bore into him.

“You don’t even believe that yourself.”

Harry scowled, picking at the fraying edge of his armchair. “He wouldn’t do that, alright? I…I know him.”

Draco sneered. “Oh, you do, do you? You haven’t even spoken in ages. Who’s to say he won’t go betraying—”

“Because he won’t,” Harry snapped at him, his hands clenched, “So shut up about it.”

Draco stared at him coldly, his face unreadable.

Harry let out a sigh, cursing silently. His anger left as quickly as it’d come, leaving only an inkling of annoyance and almost…bitterness? Though Harry couldn’t tell if it was his own emotions, or if they were coming from the man sitting across from him. Draco was occupied with his cigarettes once more, his lips pressed together in a hard line.

“Can you look at me?” Harry said after a few long minutes of silence.

Annoyance. Frustration. “No.”

Draco fingered the wrapping of the cigarette pack, peeling it away slowly. Harry glared at him, his own frustration bleeding through, wanting Draco to say something, anything so that he could be reassured that this argument wouldn’t set them back to the beginning, to what they were before. Because Harry didn’t think he would be able to take that. But Draco’s body remained closed off.

Harry had a sudden idea. He took a deep, calming breath and slowly reached inside himself, searching for the magic that was there, for the small place which had once felt foreign to him, but which Harry now recognized as the connection that had been forming for weeks and months; he had only to follow the connection, a link, leading him out towards the emptiness of the room before finding the familiar edge of magic that surrounded Draco like a protective barrier—and passing through it, following the link until he was filled with the power that was Draco, until he could clearly feel Draco’s unease, his displeasure and nervousness—and Draco hissed, throwing him a sharp, startled look.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, his fist clenching around the small box. He sat up straighter in the armchair, his eyes growing wide with alarm. “Stop that.” Instinctively, Harry tried to send out a calm feeling through the connection, to convey some sort of comfort and safety. Draco suddenly stood up, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I said _no_ ,” Draco growled, and with surprisingly painful force, Harry’s consciousness was thrown back, out of Draco’s mind and magical presence, leaving Harry confused and breathless. With a seething glare, Draco started for the door.

_Fuck. No no no._ Harry hurried forward, stumbling slightly. “Draco, wait,” he reached out a hand but retracted it when Draco moved away from him. _Shit._

“What do you think you’re playing at, _Potter_?” Draco said, his eyes narrowed. Distrust. Anger. The feelings were barely there, faint and almost indistinct, as though Draco were trying to shield them from Harry. And Harry didn’t know what to say. As usual his words were stuck in his throat. He hesitated, wanting more than anything to apologize, to confess everything that he was feeling: the regret, confusion, longing, affection but he knew it was too soon, much, much too soon to be feeling this way and everything felt as though it was moving way too fast and how was he to ever explain this to Draco when he didn’t even understand what was happening himself? And then Draco scowled at him, a look so reminiscent of years past that Harry was startled at the flash of hurt that crossed his chest.

“I don’t know!” Harry found himself blurting out as Draco moved away, his hands clenching into fists so that they wouldn’t shake at his sides. “I don’t know…” he said again, shaking his head unnecessarily. He sighed and tried to piece his thoughts together. “This is…this is just as weird for me as it is for you. I…” Draco’s hand was on the handle of the door but he was watching Harry warily. Harry reached out for him again, but let his hand fall back at his side before he could touch him. Draco blinked away from him. “I don’t _know_ what the fuck is happening,” Harry said honestly. “Just…just don’t go.”

When after a few seconds Draco hadn’t made another move to leave, Harry stepped forward, reaching over and gently pulling away the small box of cigarettes that’d been clenched in Draco’s fingers. He vanished them. Draco stared at him, his silver eyes betraying nothing.

“You don’t need them,” Harry shrugged, offering a nervous lift of the corners of his lips.

“That’s a shit way of saying sorry, Potter,” Draco replied carefully, letting go of the door. “Vanishing other people’s things.”

Harry could’ve laughed with relief. But he grinned, reaching a hand to the back of his head nervously. Then he said in all seriousness, “I’m sorry. For yesterday…for today, for right now…this is…”

“I know,” Draco finished for him. “I know.”

oOo

**Tuesday, 7 th of November**

Draco rested his chin on his hand, his elbow resting elegantly on the small table. His other hand lay flat on his thigh, but it clenched into a fist when the woman across from him continued to stare at him innocently.

“ _Pansy_ ,” Draco said through his teeth, straightening himself away from the table as Elena-the-Waitress came by with their orders of coffee. Draco, who had ordered his with extra cream, scowled at the black drink that was placed in front of him. He didn’t bother to say anything to the black-haired Elena, returning his gaze instead back to Pansy.

“ _Draco_ ,” Pansy mimicked with a playful smile.

“Pansy, _what are you still doing here?_ ”

“Well, I thought that was obvious, darling. I’m here with my husband and I’m not going to leave until he’s finished with his business,” she answered delicately, taking a small sip of her drink. She ignored the glare that was sent her way. “Honestly, if you don’t want to see me anymore, I understand—”

“—it’s not that, Pansy—”

“—I know you get tired of me, Draco, but if you really want me to leave just like that then don’t go expecting your gift from me come Christmas because you won’t be getting anything, not even an owl, you ungrateful boy,” she finished with a huff, her eyes watering with hurt.

Draco sighed, holding back the urge grab the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Pansy…darling…I’ve told you already. I just think it would be best if you went home to your mother, where you’d be most comfortable. So you won’t…strain yourself or anything…”

Pansy suddenly beamed, traces of hurt all but gone from her beautiful face. “Oh, is this about the baby?” she asked happily. She waved her hand. “She won’t be coming along for months and months, Draco. You don’t have to—”

“‘ _She_?’ It’s a she? It’s a…you can already tell?”

“Well, not yet. But I can _feel_ it,” she said to him, her dark brown eyes round with excitement. “I can feel it in my bones, Draco. Our little Anastacia is going to be so beautiful just like mummy, just wait and see. Oh, and you’ll be godfather, Draco. There’s no question who I want by her side. She’ll love you so much and you’ll send her gifts on her birthdays and on special holidays…”

Draco wasn’t listening. His heart beat uncomfortably fast, and his ears had started ringing at the word godfather. _Godfather_ …Draco exhaled shakily. He wanted to shake his head. As if he were capable of taking care of another person, another _child_ …as if he knew _how_ to take care of anyone besides himself. As if anyone would be _safe_ being by his side. Draco stood up quite abruptly, startling Pansy mid-sentence.

“Draco?”

“I-I’ve just remembered I need to meet with my cohort.”

“I thought you said you were free the rest of the evening.”

“Like I said, I’ve just remembered.”

“Oh, alright,” she stood up, reaching for him.

“I’ll owl you,” Draco said stiffly and started quickly for the door. He placed a few coins down at the registers for Elena-the-Waitress, ignoring the call of farewell that came from behind the counter.

_Godfather_ …

oOo

When Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place after Concealment Tuesday evening, he was more than surprised to find someone already there in his sitting room. Hermione was sat on the sofa cross-legged, her books and notes spread out on the coffee table in front of her. She reminded Harry nostalgically of their past days at Hogwarts when they would all study together in the Gryffindor Common Room. Her long curls lay around her, side-parted at the top of her head so that one side of her face was blocked amidst brown hair, framing her unusually thin face. She didn’t look up when Harry cautiously walked in, hesitating near the doorway before finding the courage to sit opposite her on his favorite armchair.

Neither of them spoke for quite some time, both comfortable in the silence that stretched. Harry didn’t ask what she was doing here siting in his home—he had the feeling that he already knew the answer, and it didn’t make him feel good. Instead, he plucked a few pages from the table, scanning them and concluding that Hermione was doing research for her medi-witch training. He placed them back down.

When Harry felt sufficient time had passed, he started, “Are you—”

“Ron and I are taking a little break from each other,” came Hermione’s voice from behind a large book.

Harry leaned back against the armchair, frowning deeply at her words. He chewed on his lip before saying, “Hermione, that’s ridiculous.”

Hermione gave no answer to that, flipping the page of another book and mouthing the words that she was apparently reading. There was no trace of sadness on her face, no traces of anything other than concentration, but Harry knew better. Her fingers were thin on the page, her skin pale, and her clothes were loose on her frame. “That’s ridiculous,” he repeated. “You two belong together.” Hermione gave him a look, both mocking and exasperated, and then gave him a once-over.

“Did you only just get out of training?” she asked, returning her nose back to a particularly worn out book entitled, _Maladies, Magical and Mundane: the Art of Healing_.

“Hermione…”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Harry,” she said with a shake of her head. She was silent for a moment and then suddenly she snapped her eyes back up to Harry. Harry raised his eyebrows in question. “And don’t you dare start blaming yourself for what’s happening between me and that complete prat, like you always do when something bad happens. Ron just…he just needs to find his way back to us on his own.” She sighed. “I’m tired of trying to speak to him and worrying that I’ll say the wrong thing or, or that I’ll mention you in passing, forgetting that you two aren’t _actually_ talking to one another.”

Harry fought down the guilt he was feeling. “I tried looking for him on Sunday night,” Harry said. “But I couldn’t find him. Which is good, I suppose, since I wouldn’t have known what to do with him.”

Hermione gave him a searching look, biting her bottom lip and then returning back to her book as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Which to her, considering, it probably was. Then, from the top of her book, “He told me what happened.”

“About what?”

Hermione peered across at him. “He told what he saw.”

Harry froze, swallowed and found it difficult to do so since his mouth had gone dry. “He…he told you?” he half-laughed—a nervous, telling laugh. He closed his mouth and looked away.

“Well, I caught the gist more or less from the words he was yelling when he arrived home the other night.”

“Oh.”

Harry felt his face heating terribly and thanked Merlin that the lights in his sitting room weren’t all that bright. Hermione lowered her book and continued to stare at him with a knowing eye.

“I take its true then? You don’t seem to be denying anything—”

“I don’t even know what it is that I should be denying!” Harry said loudly, deciding to be on the defensive. But he knew he failed miserably when a smile grew on Hermione’s face. He glared at her.

“He’s a Malfoy, Harry,” she said carefully. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I don’t,” Harry answered. He hadn’t a clue at all; and it was terrifying. “When have you known me to _ever_ know what I’m getting myself into?”

“Never,” Hermione answered with a hint of playfulness.

Harry nodded in agreement, returning her smile, feeling the heat still on his face. But his insides were feeling warm at the clear reaction (or, really, lack thereof) from Hermione. It was as positive a reaction as he could’ve hoped for in regards to what was happening between him and Draco.

“You seem to be rather okay with this,” he said.

Hermione shrugged. “I _did_ have a whole day to process the information. A whole day to think of how this could’ve happened, how this would change things and what it meant for all of us…for you especially. I just don’t want to see you hurt, Harry. And with Malfoy’s track record on that front, it’s got me awfully worried for you.”

Harry hesitated a moment, his insides bubbling with nervousness and anxiety. But Hermione was looking at him expectantly and he’d missed her company so much that he couldn’t help but tell her everything that had happened since he and Ron stopped speaking to one another. He told her everything: about training, about his magic, how Draco had offered to help and how that had opened a door to their growing friendship. And he told her how his magic responded to him, how powerful he felt when the two were in the same room. He tried to glaze over their first kiss in the potion’s lab on Level Two but Hermione had insisted he go back and retell it with as much detail as possible. Harry had gravitated to the larger sofa, sitting next to Hermione who curled up close to his side like she used to do before, and Harry stroked her bushy brown hair, so content and happy that Hermione was back, that he could still count on her to be there for him, as his family.

Eventually he stopped talking, his arm wrapped around Hermione’s shoulder, before realizing something very important. He narrowed his eyes, and pushed her away gently. She responded with round, innocent brown eyes. She had so easily gotten him to open up, to change the subject from what was _really_ important, as she’d done so often before, and Harry had fallen for it.

“Don’t think just because I just spilled my most intimate secrets it’ll get you off the hook, Hermione,” he said sternly. Hermione pursed her lips and made to grab her notes. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Hermione. Tell me how you’re feeling. Really.”

Hermione seemed to sag a little, unfurling her crossed legs from under her and smoothing her hair away from her face. She pouted. “I’ve cried enough tears for him, Harry. He’s just so stubborn. I don’t think he even knows why he’s angry anymore and why this all started in the first place…If he can’t understand that I can never be separated from you then he can take his…his…” she groaned in frustration.

Harry bit his lip, but refrained from saying anything harsh against Ron. “You know I wouldn’t be angry with you if you went back to him—”

“You stop right there,” Hermione said with a glare. “You two are the most important people in my world, Harry. I know he’ll come back. I _know_ it. He just needs some time. Just give him some time. Don’t give up on him just yet.”

Harry knew the conversation was over and decided not to press the issue any further. All he could do was nod.

oOo


	14. Here it Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A present for you, my readers. xxx

oOo

**Thursday, 9 th of November**

“It’s simple, really,” Harry was saying. “It would be loads easier if we could just pick up a telephone instead of wasting time and energy writing out a memo, and then waiting for it to arrive at its destination. Do you know what I mean?”

Draco gave him a look laden with judgement at his insistence to replace Interdepartmental memos with muggle devices.

Harry shrugged. “If you want to be poked in the eye again by one of these,” he waved a hand at the purple paper aeroplanes above them, “fine by me. I still think telephones are safer and would save a lot of time in an emergency."

The doors to the lift opened and they stepped out onto the main floor of the Ministry.

“In an emergency one would apparate, Potter.”

Harry didn’t respond. They walked side-by-side, Harry avoiding eye contact with the witches and wizards that walked past. Soon they reached the Ministry café and entered.

“What I don’t understand,” Draco hissed in his ear when they reached the front counter, “is why Proudfoot sent _us_ to order his bloody coffee.”

Harry gave a too-wide grin at the black-haired witch behind the counter and tried not to shiver at the breath on his neck. The witch stared at the pair of them, bemused and wide-eyed. Self-consciously, Harry patted his hair down on his forehead, but it only served to place more attention to his scar, which the black-haired witch was now staring at.

“Does he think I chose to be an Auror solely to serve them all drinks? Do I look like an errand boy to you, Potter?”

Harry elbowed Draco the moment the witch turned away and glared. “You think I want to be down here doing this? Being ogled by everyone around? You think I enjoy it?” Harry hissed back. “Never mind—don’t answer that. Besides, Proudfoot and the others have been working overtime with the Miller case. He could use some caffeine. I don’t think any of them have gone home since last Friday.”

“Anything for you, sir?” the witch asked in Draco’s direction after taking Harry’s order.

“No,” Draco replied, his eyes narrowed at Harry. “Thank you, Elena.” He seemed to decide it wasn’t worth responding back to Harry and proceeded to walk towards the entrance of the café. Harry watched him go, puzzled.

When they called for Harry’s name a few moments later, he took the proffered cup and frowned when the witch pushed another in his hand. She motioned her head towards Draco, who stood tall and poised by the entrance, glaring at anyone who turned his way.

“For the moody one,” she said to him, smiling a toothy, dimpled grin.

Not knowing how to reply, Harry nodded and walked away.

After securing an empty lift back up to headquarters, Harry handed Draco his drink. Draco stared at it.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, taking it anyway.

Harry frowned. “Wasn’t me,” Harry said, concentrating on not spilling Proudfoot’s drink on his training robes. He felt more than saw Draco’s questioning eyes on him. “The witch from the café,” he clarified. He couldn’t help but gage Draco’s reaction carefully.

“Elena the Waitress?” Draco asked, his eyebrows furrowing. He contemplated his drink for a second before smirking and took an appreciative sip from his cup. He tilted his head back a little, exposing his neck, and when he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed invitingly. Draco caught Harry’s stare and held it, lowering his cup and letting his tongue swipe across his lips. They stood this way for a moment, neither looking away and neither making a move to close the distance between them. Just as Harry’s instincts told him to _move_ , the doors opened on the floor of their department and the spell was broken. Draco smiled at him, a smile more mischievous than anything, and extended a hand for Harry to precede him from the lift.

When they arrived at Proudfoot’s office, they found Oliver waiting for them. His Auror robes were gone and instead he wore a dark brown muggle jacket over a denim button up. He turned towards the pair when they crossed into the room.

“Finally,” Oliver said, motioning for them to follow him back out of the office. He took the cup that Harry was still holding in his hand and took a long gulp from it. “I know you two should be heading to ST in a few, but we’ll be doing something a little different today.” He threw them an excited grin over his shoulders.

“Stealth and Tracking cancelled, then?”

“Not quite.” The three of them crossed several desks in the open-office area, weaving around them so as to not disturb the stacks of files that littered the tops.

“Where’s Proudfoot?” Harry asked.

“Called on duty,” Oliver responded, taking another sip before handing the cup over to one of the Department clerks and waving him off. Beside him, Draco did the same. “Doesn’t mean you two are free,” he continued when they arrived in his office. He closed the door behind them. “You’ll be doing ST out in the field with me instead.” Oliver crossed the room and leaned on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms and facing them with an expectant smile.

“Will you be clarifying, or…?” Draco started. The smile on Oliver’s face thinned a fraction.

“Are you working the Miller case, too?” Harry asked, failing to conceal the excitement in his voice. Maybe he _would_ be getting involved after all. “Is that where the Aurors have been called off to? I heard some of the officers muttering about a possible lead somewhere up north. Are they getting close?” He felt Draco tense next to him and he turned to him in question.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Harry,” Oliver said, taking his attention again. “But we won’t be going as far as the others. Just doing some standard house-calls to gather any extra information we can to help with the case.” Oliver straightened and turned to his desk. “That being said, this is still your first-time shadowing on the field. The ground rules that you’ve been studying this past months will apply from the moment we leave headquarters. Is that clear?” He made sure to receive an understanding nod from the pair of them before picking up two leather bindings from his desk. Harry recognized the bindings as wand holsters and he took one from Oliver’s outstretched hand. “Shed your cloaks,” Oliver ordered. “We’ll be in muggle territory tonight and I can’t stress enough the importance of acting as any muggle would—that is to say, _normal_.”

Harry shed his cloak, throwing it on the back of a chair where Draco had placed his own. He slipped the holster on his forearm, one circled strap near his elbow and the other secured around his wrist. He slid his wand in the holder which ran down the inside of his forearm and tested it, flicking his wrist almost imperceptibly, satisfied at the speed in which his wand came to his hand. He did this multiple times, raising his wand straight away as if in combat. Next to him, Draco did the same.

Oliver let them practice for a few more minutes before motioning for them to follow him out of the office and towards the headquarters apparition point.

-x-

The first thing that Harry noticed when they apparated was the unpleasant smell of an alleyway. The second thing was that Draco had uncharacteristically misjudged his apparition point and stumbled into Harry. His body was a little too warm against him, warmer than normal, and his breath came out as a barely concealed gasp where Harry had reached to steady him. _Was he in pain?_ Draco straightened quickly and moved to follow Oliver. The three of them walked out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk, blending in with busy shoppers on the street. The lampposts were only just beginning to turn on for the evening. Harry felt a familiar layer of magic, signaling a privacy charm.

“We got word of another muggle witness this morning,” Oliver said to them as they walked. “It’s been difficult to find any, especially since headquarters isn’t usually given the clear to work with muggles for fear of their safety. This man happens to be a family friend of the Millers and is said to have been in the same area as the Miller’s deaths. There’s a chance he might’ve caught sight of the Dark Wizards.”

“Wouldn’t he have needed a Memory-charm if he saw anything?” Draco asked.

“Normally, he would. But as I’ve said, we only just got word.”

“Where are we heading now?”

“Muggle pub. Local spot, out of the way of the main street. Larson Reif, our witness, has recently become a daily visitor. He might have a lot on his mind.”

“Probably something he saw the day of the Miller’s deaths?”

“That’s what we think. That, or he may just be in mourning. They were friends for quite some time. Either way, he might have information about the Miller’s last days that we may have overlooked.”

The pub was indeed out of the way of the main street. Few people were out on the dark street, and when they entered the pub, there were fewer people still. The three of them found an empty table with ease and settled across from the only other occupied booth.

“Who is it, then?” Harry asked.

Oliver motioned with his head toward the man sitting at the bar. Harry leaned over to peek around the low-hanging light above their table, studying the man across the dimly lit area. The man seemed to be in his mid- to late-thirties, dark hair, fair skin, unimpressive attire. He nursed a shot glass in his hand and after swirling its contents a bit, downed the whole thing in one go. He motioned for the bartender to fill up another one.

“At the rate that he’s going he won’t be able to recall anything of use,” Draco pointed out. His hands were resting below the table, his fists closed, and his shoulders tensed as if expecting something to happen. Harry was tempted to reach out to him and ask whether he was feeling okay, but held his tongue as Oliver moved to stand.

“I’m going to see what I can extract from him. You two wait here.”

“Are you alright?” Harry asked when Oliver slipped into the bar stool next to their witness. Draco spared him a glance before returning his attention back to the bar.

“Yes,” he answered at length. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Harry didn’t respond, but he noted the pale complexion of the blonde, despite the fever-warmth that seemed to emanate from him. The muscles on his shoulders hadn’t relaxed since they’d arrived. Ever since the day in the study room, the day in which Harry had so carelessly infringed upon Draco’s personal, magical boundaries—he’d been careful about reaching out to Draco through the link. He hadn’t felt Draco’s emotions as strongly or easily as he had before. When he did feel them, they were muffled as though Draco were trying his best to close himself off. Harry tried not to care. But the fact remained that he felt a little stung at the thought that Draco believed the link to be an inconvenience. Which, now that Harry ruminated, it probably was. Harry rested his head on his chin, disheartened and slightly aching, a sigh on the edge of his lips.

Draco turned his head towards Harry just then, his eyes searching. Harry straightened, his face heating unwantedly because Draco could probably feel all of Harry’s emotions with ease. Thinking that he should probably close himself off, too, Harry tried, but he’d always been shit at Occlumency and didn’t think it helped one bit judging by the small frown on Draco’s face. After some more frowning and eye-searching, Draco cleared his throat and returned his attention to their witness. Harry refrained from closing his eyes in embarrassment. 

“How’s your magic?” Draco asked, startling Harry from his self-deprecating thoughts.

“Oh, erm. It’s good. It’s good, actually. I’ve been working on the exercises you’ve taught me. And along with Hermione’s meditation sessions, it’s helped quite a bit. I feel a lot more in control, you know, even during Offense. I don’t lose control as much—I don’t know if you’ve noticed?”

“I have. That’s—” Draco’s next movement was slight. He inhaled suddenly, sharply, his left arm twitching as though stung. Draco’s eyes widened, his face turning white as sheet, and that’s when Harry felt it: the ripple in the air of the bar, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, the warning charms Oliver had placed around the bar ringing before disappearing all together. Across the bar, Oliver jumped out of his seat, raising his wand in the same second, but is wholly unprepared for the violent flash of green that lights the bar, and Harry’s stomach drops. Harry and Draco were out of their seat, their wands raised, by the time the bartender’s body hits the floor. The cracks of Apparition sound around them and Harry barely catches sight of something silver disappearing through the window of the bar. Their witness was on the floor, shaking with fright, and the muggles that had been sat across from them have realized something odd has happened; their shouts of alarm turned into screams when flashes of red began to streak around the room. Harry leaped away from flying debris from a blasted table, erecting a protective shield around the muggles before sending his own curse towards the cloaked figures. Draco had already rushed to the other end of the bar, engaged in combat with two men in black. Harry fought his panic when the blonde was shoved against the wall shelving. Louder screams next to him called his attention and he dodged a streak of red before reaching the terrified muggles.

“Get them out!” Oliver shouted, shoving the petrified witness toward him, and turning back to raise a shield just in time to stop the curse aimed at them.

Harry raised his wand and blasts a sizeable hole on the wall that leads outside. The muggles stared at him in horror and Harry grabbed the woman’s arm to pull her towards the exit. This seemed to stir the other three muggles and they bolt away from the bar in different directions. Cursing, Harry follows them, managing to send a protective charm around the woman and her companions. Their witness has started running away from him but before Harry can stop him or send a charm in his direction, he’s stopped by the apparition of another cloaked figure. The witness stumbles and falls hard on the ground, motionless. An evil grin spreads across the face of the cloaked figure and he raised his wand at the body on the ground. Harry sends a curse in his direction without hesitation and the attacker deflected. The evil grin falls away from his face and he scowled, raising his wand now towards Harry. Harry is caught off guard at the force of the man’s spells—powerful and sinister. He vaguely notices that Oliver has now come outside too, engaged with two other cloaked figures and keeping them occupied enough to let the other muggles run away to safety. Harry stumbled on a rock and is too slow to dodge a spell and gets clipped in the shoulder by a curse. He’s thrown back on the ground, hard. He has no time to register the pain on his back or shoulder, but quickly jumps back up, his body straining from the curse, to dodge a second curse. Harry’s breath is coming out quick, his heart beating uncomfortably fast and his limbs heightened with adrenaline, his movements coming out as instinct. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Draco rush out of the bar, running toward him, his wand raised. Harry finds that his fall has given his attacker some time to turn towards their witness, who has started to crawl away in vain. Knowing this might be his only chance to keep their witness alive, Harry calculates quickly in his head and disapparates. He apparates a second later just behind his attacker, whose wand is raised towards the man on the ground.

“ _Harry, don’t_!”

“Avada—”

Harry takes hold of the man by the waist and disapparates once more. He feels the man straining against him, the uncomfortable feeling of apparating intensifying with the added struggle of carrying another person. When they reappear they land hard on the ground. Harry scrambles to his feet, his attacker doing the same, and they raise their wands at each other at the same time. Suddenly, Harry is stunned at the rush of emotions that hit him, an overwhelming sense of fear and such a deep sense of anxiety that Harry stumbles. He immediately turns to search for Draco. Draco is yards away on the ground, on his back, his wand nowhere to be seen. A towering dark figure has overpowered him, and is poised on top of Draco, one hand possessively at Draco’s throat, and his head leaned in close enough to whisper. Draco’s hands are at his attacker’s chest, trying to push him off. Fury courses through Harry at the sight and it’s no question that he chooses to aim a harsh curse towards Draco’s attacker instead of raising a shield to protect him from the point-blank spell that’s aimed at him. The last thing he saw was Draco’s expression of surprise as his throat is released and then rushing to stand, searching for Harry, worry and fear coming through their bond, before Harry is sent off his feet, the world around him turning black.

oOo

**Saturday, 11 November 2000**

Draco sighed heavily. He hadn’t slept in two days, his head was pounding, and he found that he couldn’t be arsed to care whether Robards kicked him out of the Ministry at this point. He wanted to go home. He _needed_ to go see Harry. He hadn’t seen him since the back-up team had arrived at the pub Thursday night and took Harry away to St. Mungos. They wouldn’t allow Draco to leave headquarters even after he insisted he should go see his partner. His chest ached at the thought, and his worry hadn’t seized ever since he realized he couldn’t feel Harry’s emotions. They had become so familiar to him; Harry’s calm when the both of them studied in Study Room Six, his excitement during classes while they dueled, his mad sense of giddiness when he laughed at something Draco had said. Draco bit the inside of his cheek, clearing his throat when it threatened to close up.

“Remind me again what happened,” Robards barked at him.

Draco refrained from glaring. He didn’t think he had the energy. Instead he said, “They told me nothing. They celebrated the death of the muggles at the pub. They asked me to find a way to free—” Draco felt his throat close, his oath of keeping the identity of the Sons a secret, forcing him to stay silent. He gasped as his throat cleared and ignored the way Robards sneered at his reaction. “I left with the pretense that I would come back and gather more information.” Draco didn’t say how Adrian Pucey had attacked him the minute he had arrived at yesterday’s meeting of the Sons, blaming him for how the Aurors managed to capture Higgs; didn’t say how Nott had looked at him with disappointment when he had no information to relay; didn’t mention how Blaise had cornered him once more, whispering in his ear until Draco felt sick with himself. _You play your part well._

Robards dismissed him and Draco left, taking long strides out of the office and down the long hallway toward the headquarters apparition point. He debated returning to his flat. He was exhausted and he could do with a scalding-hot shower. But the urge to see Harry with his own eyes, to know that he was safe and whole and as frustrating as ever, won over. He had overheard Wood saying earlier that Harry had left St. Mungos that very morning. He hadn’t recognized the curse that Harry had been hit with—Higgs had always enjoyed being creative with his spells—but it must have been very serious if Harry had to stay at St. Mungos for two nights. His fists clenched. Higgs was lucky Draco didn’t go after him when Harry had fallen. The back-up team had arrived just at that moment, and Draco was taken back to headquarters by Wood. Not for the first time since that night, Draco berated himself for not going to visit Harry straight away. What would Harry have thought knowing that Draco hadn’t come to visit? Would he have been bothered? Would he have cared? Draco hesitated as he entered the apparition room. He stood on one of the green X markers which indicated the point of apparition, and paused. What if Harry didn’t want to see him? After all, Draco was the reason Harry had been hurt in the first place. He knew that Harry had chosen not to defend himself, _bloody idiot_. If only Draco hadn’t been so distracted when he’d spotted Blaise. If only his body didn’t react so much when the man was around…then he wouldn’t have needed Harry to be his bloody savior for the umpteenth time in his life. He sighed, ignoring the stare of the Auror who had just stepped into the room. Harry was probably at home by now—it was getting late in the evening. Before he could second-guess himself further, Draco closed his eyes, picturing the front porch of Grimmauld Place, and braced himself for the cold once he arrived.

The cold, however, never came. When he opened his eyes, Draco found himself standing in the entryway of the house, which was warm and dark. Confused, Draco looked about and concluded that he was indeed in Grimmauld Place, that he hadn’t accidentally apparated to his own flat, and tried to calm the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the thought that he’d been keyed in to Harry’s wards.

“Draco.”

Draco’s stomach flipped. Harry stood at the doorway of the sitting room, _confusion, surprise,_ _nervousness_ radiating from him in such a familiar way that Draco nearly sagged in relief. His hair was a wild nest of coal-black hair, his face was a little pale, the skin under his eyes slightly bruised as though he had also spent the past two nights awake, his clothes hung loose around him, and he really could use another few meals a day, but he was _whole_. He was _okay_.

“You’re okay,” Draco heard himself say.

Harry shrugged, a ghost of a smile appearing on the corner of his lips. “I’m alright.”

They lapsed into silence. Draco couldn’t take his eyes away from him, could barely contain the urge to wrap himself in Harry’s arms, in his magic, to touch him and make sure that he was really, truly there. But he controlled himself. It wouldn’t do for Draco to just impose himself into Harry’s space, especially when he didn’t know if Harry was still hurting from his injuries. Besides, he didn’t think he could bring himself to take those few steps forward, to make that first move, _what was he even thinking of doing?_ He swallowed, thinking that he’d gotten what he had come for—Harry wasn’t in any danger. He was safe and should be back to his old Savior self in no time. Draco was just about to take a small step back, an excuse on the edge of his tongue, when he feels it. _Merlin_ , he could feel Harry’s sudden need, the _longing_ through their link and it had him frozen on the spot. Draco couldn’t help the shaky breath that escaped him, and he was helpless, he knew it. He wouldn’t be able to leave now, not when Harry was staring at him like there was no one else in the world. He bit his lip, more to keep an embarrassing sound from escaping, and that seemed to be the cue that Harry needed because he rushed toward him. All at once Draco was wrapped in Harry’s warmth, his body hot and hard underneath the loose layers of clothing, and Draco’s heart fluttered when their lips met in a frantic, burning embrace. Harry’s hands were around his waist, holding him tight against his chest and he took Draco’s bottom lip between his teeth. Draco melted into his touch, reaching his arms up and tangling his hands in Harry’s impossibly soft, dark hair, pulling him closer still. Their lips moved together, perfectly in sync, their tongues soon intertwined. Harry felt so warm and solid and real, his _excitement_ apparent through their link and he wondered if Harry could feel the same. His kisses were growing more urgent—he pressed Draco against the railing of the staircase, and his knees grew weak when he felt Harry’s hardness against him.

“Draco, I can’t—” Harry started to say against his lips. One arm had curled around the small of Draco’s back holding him tight, and the other reached around to grasp the bannister behind them. Harry kissed the side of his mouth, sliding his lips across his jaw, towards his neck, nipping gently at the skin and pulling a low moan from Draco. “ _Shit_. I can’t stand for too long.”

Draco pulled away just enough to notice that Harry’s breathing was labored and his legs were shaking. “Well,” Draco said, unwilling to stop, “you’ve a perfectly decent chaise lounge in your sitting room—”

“Bedroom.” The word was spoken softly, soft enough that Draco thought he’d imagined it. But one look at Harry’s face, the dark, hungry look in his eyes and the slight flush that appeared on his face the longer Draco stood frozen in his arms. Draco found it hard to swallow—his mouth had gone terribly dry.

“Where?” Draco managed to ask, too worked up with the way that Harry kept glancing down at his mouth to care that his voice came out huskier than he would’ve liked.

“Second floor. First room on the right.”

Draco reached his hands up to hold the sides of Harry’s face, closing the distance between their lips before he apparated them to Harry’s bedroom. He thanked Merlin that his aim was correct. In the light of the lone table lamp, Draco briefly caught sight of peeling blue wallpaper before Harry pushed him gently, the back of his knees hitting the foot of the bed. He fell on the bed and Draco hoped he was moving as gracefully as he imagined because, if he was being honest with himself, his brain was still trying to catch up with the fact that _oh, Merlin, this is happening_. His hands were shaking a bit too much to pull himself up properly and he only managed to scoot up a fraction before Harry climbed over him, reaching a hand under Draco’s back and lifting his body with ease so that Draco was lying more comfortably in the middle of the bed, soft pillows at the back of his head. Draco’s trousers grew unbearably tight at being handled in such a careful, thoughtful way, and he quickly spread his legs for Harry to settle between them. This elicited a deep sound of approval from Harry, who bit his lip as he stared down at Draco, his eyes sweeping down to the bulge in Draco’s trousers.

“You like that do you?” Draco asked, glad that he was still able to smirk, though his heart was hammering madly in his chest.

Harry let out a breath of laughter and ran a hand up Draco’s side, pushing his shirt up in the process. “ _Yes_ ,” Harry said when Draco shivered, and he panicked for a second when Harry urged him to lift his arms, but Harry only pulled the collar of his shirt over his head, leaving the sleeves in place as he recaptured his lips, working his mouth open with his tongue. Draco could feel Harry’s magic surround him, powerful and overwhelming, each touch on his skin like fire. When Harry moved lower, his lips leaving a trail of burning kisses down his neck, to his chest, he froze as he caught sight of the old scars that had never properly healed. Draco thought he would stop then, he felt the _guilt_ , but his heart nearly stopped when Harry tentatively ran his tongue across the top of the longest scar which ran from his left shoulder to his right hip. Draco gasped, his hands clutching at Harry shoulders, surprised at the sensitivity, at how very intimate it felt to have Harry doing that. He could feel how Harry was struggling to hold himself up, his arms shaking on either side of him, noticed how Harry was pushing himself even though he should be resting, so Draco made a decision.

“What are you doing?” Harry said as he was forced gently back until he was lying with his back on the bed, Draco now straddling him. Draco swallowed, his heart pounding fast in his chest, his hands shaking in nervousness and excitement, and Harry’s magic now freely flowing across his skin. He pulled his shirt off the rest of the way, noticing how Harry determinedly kept his eyes locked on his, to which Draco was eternally grateful. His fingers shook when he reached for the hem of Harry’s shirt and he marveled at how Harry can so easily make him feel helpless, as though he hadn’t a clue what he was doing, as though he had never done this kind of thing before. He pulled the shirt over Harry’s head, and though it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, he’d never been this close for this long—close enough to see the collection of scars that littered his body, faded burn marks, long, thin scars that had also never healed properly. Despite this or, rather _because_ of this, knowing that Harry was just as battle-worn, that he was imperfect in the most faultless way, Draco felt something deep in his chest, something that scared him more than anything he’d gone through before. He leaned forward and with one last deep kiss, Draco pulled away and moved lower. The desire to taste Harry, to explore his body as if this were the only chance he would ever get—he wanted to make this good for him; he wanted Harry quivering underneath his body, coming undone. He moved his hand down Harry’s chest, following his movement with his mouth, kissing, nipping at the blemished skin, very aware of the small pants, the shaky exhales that slipped from Harry’s lips. When he eventually, inevitably, moved lower, his head now level with Harry’s toned abdomen, he paused. He let his breath run softly along the skin, admiring Harry’s self-control, how Harry was so clearly holding back with the small sounds that threatened to escape him. Draco kissed the skin on his navel, letting his tongue slide across his bellybutton, smiling when Harry’s breath halted and was let out shakily. Draco was impatient; he couldn’t wait to make Harry lose himself, to hear those sounds that Draco had provoked. He could feel the warmth of Harry’s trousers on his chest, could feel the small thrusts Harry couldn’t help but make, and his heart sped up, skipping when Harry reached a hand to hold on to his forearm. Draco moved even lower, one hand spread across Harry’s abdomen, the other stroking the inside of Harry’s thigh. Boldly, he placed his lips on the tent in Harry’s trousers, his hand joining, palming Harry’s erection. Sitting up, he unfastened Harry’s trousers, and Harry lifted his hips readily so Draco could slip them off. Harry was now lying quite naked on the bed, a flush creeping up on his face when Draco raked his eyes all over, down to Harry’s unfairly perfect, proud erection, his mouth watering with the need to have Harry in his mouth. His fingers slowly wrapped themselves around Harry’s length, and Harry closed his eyes, biting his lip hard. Draco lowered himself once more, unable to wait any longer, taking Harry into his mouth in one, fluid motion and he wasn’t sure whose moan sounded in his ears, but the gasp as Draco started to move his head in a slow, steady cadence was definitely Harry’s. His tongue pressed along the underside of Harry’s length and he closed his eyes, lamenting how he’s gone through his whole life without the taste of Harry in his mouth. Harry tangled his hands in his hair, holding on, and Draco slid one hand up to feel the muscles of Harry’s toned chest.

“ _Fuck_ , Draco.” Harry tightened his hold on Draco’s hair, as though he wanted nothing more but to thrust into Draco’s mouth and Draco would _welcome_ it. But Harry continued to let Draco set the pace, moving his hands to grip Draco’s shoulders, a low moan escaping him.

Draco was getting close. Harry’s careful groans, the hardness in his mouth, the intoxicating taste that was purely _Harry_ —it was too much to bear. He unfastened his own trousers, making quick work of lowering them enough to take his own erection in the palm of his hand, stroking in time with the movement of his mouth on Harry’s length. He could tell when Harry was getting close: his hands had left Draco to slide across his own face, over his hair, and to either sides of his head to grip the pillow underneath, his chest heaving. There was something about having this much power over someone, to see them unraveling as Harry was doing now, that Draco absolutely loved. When Harry glanced down again Draco held his gaze, the vibrant green eyes widening when Draco deliberately swirled his tongue in a way he knew felt remarkable.

“ _Oh, God…”_

Draco felt the pulsing around his mouth, the pulsing of Harry’s magic, which was in sync, and he groaned at the feeling, dizzily wondering if one could get drunk off of someone else’s magic; he lowered his free hand from Harry’s chest back down to his length while he continued to suck him, steadily increasing the pace until Harry let out a desperate, whispered word that sounded a lot like his name. The only warning Draco had was a frantic hand on his head, pushing his hair away from his face, their eyes once again locked on each other before Harry’s body tensed, the muscles on his abdomen tightening, and Draco’s throat was filled with the hot, bitter release. Then, before he realized what was happening, Harry had pulled him up, kissing him thoroughly, holding him in place with his hand at the back of his neck, his other hand knocking Draco’s away from his painfully hard erection, already moist at the tip, and stroked him expertly. Draco whimpered into Harry’s mouth, breathless as Harry’s tongue explored, and he really should have known that Harry was the kinky kind, loving the taste of himself on Draco. He was so close and when he pulled away from Harry’s lips to gasp, Harry’s whispered words of encouragement in his ear, his magic delightfully suffocating, his naked, spent body beneath him, his hand firm and twisting just _so_ , brought Draco over the edge and he came on Harry’s chest, his body shaking with the force of it.  

He doesn’t remember sliding on to the bed beside Harry, doesn’t remember Harry cleaning their bodies with a wordless wave of his hand, his eyes drifting closed, and the softest pressure on his lips pulling a small smile from him before he drifts off into a comforting sleep.

oOo


	15. I Can Never Live Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your Faith in this story. Your comments always keep me going. Love xxx

 

oOo

**Sunday, 12 November 2000**

When Harry woke the following morning it was on the edges of a pleasant dream. Teddy had been playing happily on someone’s lap. Someone who, he tried hard to contain the fading images in his mind, had an unmistakable smirk, a vivid head of blonde hair. Harry’s lips curved in a sleepy smile and he shifted in his bed, finding comfort in the unfamiliar warmth beside him. After a minute in which his mind became fully aware, his eyes flew open, alarm flooding his insides. With a jolt, he sat up. Next to him, and apparently fast asleep, was Draco. His hair was disheveled, laying haphazardly on his face and strewn across one of Harry’s pillows. Harry’s heart skipped, his hand itching to stroke the stray locks. Instead, he released a small breath of relief and glanced toward the window to gauge the time. The sky outside remained dark. His limbs still felt much too heavy--a natural effect of whatever curse he’d survived a few days prior. He turned back when the warm body next to him edged away, and memories of the previous night’s trysts left him wondering whether Draco would act any differently...whether he’d make an excuse to go home. Harry carefully laid back on his pillows, closing his eyes and feigning sleep, trying to ignore how much it would bother him if Draco decided to sneak off this morning. Draco was moving closer to the edge of the bed. Now Harry must decide whether to let him leave without a word. Should he ask him to stay? They both had Sunday’s off, all Aurors-in-Training did, which would give Harry the perfect opportunity to spend the day with Draco. And wasn’t that something to marvel at? Harry’s heart was beating a little quicker. Maybe Draco would agree if Harry asked for help controlling his magic? The side of the bed lifted gently as Draco moved out of it and, without knowing what he would say, Harry reached out to grab hold of his wrist.

“Don’t,” Harry said, a bleary eye fixed on the unfairly beautiful sight of a ruffled Draco Malfoy. The blond hair was flattened on one side, the other side a controlled chaos. It was utterly, completely endearing and Harry felt his heart beat skip once more. Draco looked down at the hand on his wrist before meeting his gaze.

“Potter, I have to go.”

Harry had been afraid of that. Nonetheless, he released his hold on Draco, ignoring the ache in his chest.

“You don’t have to,” he tried.

There was a moment’s pause in which Harry believed Draco would just turn and leave without a word. A moment which, in all honesty, had Harry wishing hard for something that was so very out of his reach. Merlin, his body felt fatigued, yet his mind was running a mile wondering how in the world he had been reduced to wishing Draco Malfoy would stay in his bed forever. 

“If I don’t go now I’ll piss all over your bed.”

Harry frowned, opening his eyes fully and studying the amused quirk on Draco’s pink, pink lips.

“Well?” Draco demanded when all Harry could do was stare. “May I go to the loo now, your Majesty?”

Harry considered this, reaching a hand up to his chin as if in deep thought. In reality though his heart was beating faster than should be considered normal, elated that Draco wasn’t actually leaving, that he wanted to stay with Harry just a bit longer. Fuck was he in trouble. “You may,” Harry said finally, waving him off. 

Draco rolled his eyes, padding across the room in search of his trousers, which he’d lost sometime after the second round, when the pair of them had pressed against each other in sleepy bliss. Harry’s attention didn’t stray from Draco and he was rewarded with a most glorious view of a pale, firm bottom before it disappeared under Draco’s newly-found trousers. He bit his cheek to hide the stupid, tired grin that threatened to take over his face, fighting the blush that rose when Draco turned a curious eye over at him. Draco was just about to open the door of his bedroom when Harry heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps right outside the door. He bolted upright again, momentarily blinded by the vertigo that made his vision spin. Draco quickly sidestepped the opening door, the creaky old wood shielding him from view of the intruder. 

Hermione appeared. “Harry, I’m heading out to the hospital,” she said. “Are you feeling better?”

Harry, who only just managed to pull the blankets high enough to cover his indecency, stared at her. A quick glance toward Draco was a mistake because the blonde was holding a hand over his mouth, his eyes crinkling in restrained mirth. “Erm...yeah, yes. Yes, I feel loads better.” He nodded for emphasis. 

“Good. I’ll be back late, but send me a message if you need anything. I’ll check your vitals when I get back so make sure to get lots of rest.”

“Alright. Thanks, Hermione.”

Hermione moved to close the door but returned. “Oh, I left breakfast at the table in case you’re hungry.” She paused for a second, a curious glint in her eye. “Enough for two.”

Harry froze. Surely...she hadn’t...heard anything? 

“For-for two?”

Hermione fixed him with a stare. 

“In case Malfoy’s hungry. Bye!” 

The door slammed shut and Harry was left staring at the horrified face of Draco Malfoy. His shocked grey eyes traveled from the door and settled back on Harry as if to question,  _ What the bloody fuck?  _ His own shock forgotten, Harry gave him an uncertain shrug.

“ _ You...You told her _ ?”

“No!...I didn’t...Not about tonight anyway…”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “And everything else?”

Harry shrugged again. “Ron might’ve told her what he saw the other day. You know, that night we were on the couch--?”

“Yes, I bloody well remember, for fuck’s sake. Does the whole Weasley clan know? Are you running about telling everybody else our business?” His arms were folded across his chest, a scowl marring his features. 

“No, of course not. Why would I do that?” Harry said, his own annoyance coloring his tone. He had slipped off the bed and was pulling on his trousers. He bent to reach for his shirt, covering his dizzy spell by sitting quickly on the edge of the bed and pulling the shirt over his head and arms.

“Oh, I don’t know...maybe because you love the attention?”

Silence. 

“ _ Fuck you _ .”

“Fuck you right back.”

Harry gritted his teeth. This was going to go nowhere. Before he could open his mouth for another retort, Draco opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

“You’re leaving?” Harry grimaced at the uncertainty in his voice. Had he always been so needy? Harry blamed it on his tired body. His mind wasn’t quite working properly yet after that curse. Maybe his mind was still cursed. Yes, that was it. 

“Merlin, Potter,” Draco sighed. “Would you like me to go?” 

Harry didn’t respond. He listened to the footsteps as they crossed the hall, then the quiet click of the bathroom door.

x

“We should talk about what happened?” 

Harry said this as a question. He was sitting on the chair at the kitchen table, a cup of warm coffee in his hand, and a half empty breakfast plate in front of him. Draco sighed. He’d been hoping that Harry wouldn’t bring it up. But, knowing Harry, the topic had been bound to come up sooner rather than later. Draco tucked a strand of hair out of his face and stood up, walking over to the sink to place his dishes. He stood there, not willing to turn around and face what was eventually going to make Harry hate him once again. After collecting himself, he turned around. Harry was looking at him, his eyes bright and questioning.

“What’s there to say?” Draco eventually responded, unable to hold the stare. He tucked his hands in his pockets, staring at the far wall. When Harry didn’t respond, he continued, “We were ambushed.” He shrugged, “..and outnumbered. I’m sure the situation isn’t strange considering our line of work. It must happen all the time.” He was rambling and Draco forced his mouth shut.

“But you knew something,” Harry pressed. “Didn’t you?”

Draco closed his eyes. If he concentrated hard enough he could remember the feeling of that night. He could remember the tightness in his chest, the prickling feeling on his body that  _ something  _ was about to happen. If he thought about it enough he could feel the dread spread through his bones, remember the exact moment that the mark burned so acutely it had been a struggle to not react. Yes, he had known something would happen. What he hadn’t counted on was Blaise being there, those hands once again making his muscles useless. When Draco opened his eyes again they avoided Harry’s gaze. He’d rather not see the suspicion that was sure to be there, just below the surface. Safe answer then.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” 

“Bullshit.”

Draco huffed, sinking his hands deeper in his pockets. He wasn’t ready for this conversation. He wasn’t ready for anything that involved Harry, if he was being honest. Those green eyes had always thrown him off balance. Now more than ever. Now that he’s seen how much more gentle they can be, how much more  _ eager _ . He wasn’t ready, and he hadn’t been ready for the Harry of last night, the one who had literally welcomed Draco to his bed, who had unabashedly whispered words of encouragement in his ear, who had so openly allowed Draco to feel the power of Harry’s magic. He was floored every single minute that Harry decided to be with him because there were much more interesting, savior-type things he could be doing. Draco definitely wasn’t worth the effort. He wasn’t ready for this conversation, he knew this--and he never would be. But Harry clearly wasn’t going to let it go anytime soon.  “Potter…”

“Yes. Tell me.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

That seemed to give Harry pause. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again. The next moments were strained and heavy,  _ confusion, frustration  _ filtering through the air in quick succession. Harry didn’t say anything again. Draco thought he had given up too easily.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he said quietly, and before he could dig himself a bigger hole, he disapparated. 


End file.
